


Sinking Our Teeth In The Heart Of The Sun

by fallendarlings



Series: Those Golden Days [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Autistic Steve Rogers, Babies, Bearded Steve Rogers, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Christmas, Clubbing, Domestic, Drinking, Engineer Bucky Barnes, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gay Steve Rogers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Human Disaster Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Fic, Laser Tag, Lesbian Natasha Romanov, Lighthouses, Lonely Steve Rogers, Love Confessions, M/M, Meet-Cute, Minor Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, Modern Bucky Barnes, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, POV Alternating, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Shrunkyclunks, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Stimming, Strangers to Friends, Thanksgiving, Top Steve Rogers, Vacation, accidental sugar daddy, and there was only one bed, post mission comfort, single dad bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 102,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23865160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallendarlings/pseuds/fallendarlings
Summary: Bucky Barnes never intended to become a single father at 25. But life has always enjoyed kicking him while he's down and it's showing no signs of stopping. A chance meeting with a brick wall of a guy named Steve in the formula aisle of the grocery store leads to a friendship it seems like both of them need. If only Bucky could remember that's all they are- friends. If only Steve didn't slot into their lives so perfectly and look so good spoiling Bucky's daughter (and Bucky, despite his protests).Oh, if only Steve didn't turn out to be Captain America.Steve Rogers is wandering around a world that he doesn't fit into, fighting for a government that he doesn't trust, just because he doesn't know what to do with himself if he ever relaxes long enough to actually think about anything other than the next mission.And then came Bucky Barnes and his newborn baby.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past Bucky/OFC - Relationship, Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, past bucky/omc
Series: Those Golden Days [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1880137
Comments: 396
Kudos: 1354





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this fic in my drafts for nearly a year now and I can't seem to focus on writing anything that's not stevebucky so I'm breaking her out and finishing her. I've wanted to do a kidfic for a While but the timing was never right and I hope that this one turns out as good in reality as it feels in my head... we shall see! As always, while I have the general plot down, I'm always open to suggestions if there's anything in particular that you want to see! I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Title from Eat Your Heart Out by Walk The Moon

Bucky Barnes never really intended to become a single dad at twenty five. It had never been a factor in his ten year plan for him to get a call in the middle of the night from his ex, telling him she was in labor and if he wanted the kid then he needed to get his ass to the hospital or she was signing it over to social services. He really never expected to bring a newborn baby girl home to his bachelor pad, with no idea how to take care of her.

It’s only been three days and he’s so tired he could cry, but it’s two in the morning and he finally got Estelle to stop screaming and fall asleep and he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. She’s so tiny, only five pounds, small enough in his hands that he’s afraid he’s going to break her. But she’s got a head full of dark curls and her lips are moving in sucking motions still even though she finished her bottle a good ten minutes ago.

“I’m gonna do right by you,” he whispers, tracing a finger down her tiny nose. “I don’t know much about this whole daddy thing now, but I’m gonna learn. I promise. I’ll take care of you.”

He leans his head back against the wall, trying to quiet the surge of panic in his chest. He doesn’t even have a real bed for himself, just a mattress on the floor. Let alone a crib. He has no previous experience with babies and the New Parent paperwork packet the hospital had sent home with him says that you aren’t supposed to sleep in the same bed as your baby because it’s a suffocation risk but he has nowhere else to put her. She’s spent the last two nights asleep against his bare chest because Google said skin to skin contact is important for bonding. He’s about to run out of diapers and formula and he doesn’t have a damn clue how he’s supposed to go get more. For the past three years he’s been living on takeout and frozen dinners from the corner store. He doesn’t have a car and if he takes her with him, he won’t have the hands to carry all the shit he needs to buy.

He has a shitty job and a shitty one bedroom fifth floor walk-up. He’ll be lucky not to get fired for taking the week off with no warning and he has no one to watch Estelle when he does go back to work. Dead parents, no friends, the neighbors all seem to hate him. God, he’s so fucked.

Estelle has been asleep long enough that he can shift her to his shoulder instead of keeping her cradled in the crook of his left arm. She barely stirs and he breathes a sigh of relief, lying back against his pillows. Thank god he’s always been a back sleeper and not a stomach one because that would have been disastrous. He’s asleep almost as fast as his head hits the pillow.

***

A week ago if someone had told him he would be going out in public with vomit on his t-shirt and sweatpants and his hair matted and sticking out in all directions he would have laughed in their face. But these are the cleanest clothes he has left and he has no clue when he’ll get the opportunity to do laundry again. He doesn’t own any baby clothes so he had to cut the sleeve off of one of his sweaters and wrestle it- gently- onto Estelle like a miniature tube dress. He’s doing his best, okay? Surprisingly enough, Youtube didn’t have any DIY tutorials to offer for this shit.

Estelle is screaming again- she screams a lot and here he was thinking newborns were supposed to sleep all the time- and the other patrons in the store are giving him dirty looks. He’d done the same thing over screaming children in public before he actually became a parent. What he wants to do now is shout _like you could do any better_ at them. He doesn’t. He continues staring at the wall of formula choices in despair. He should have Googled this or bothered to look at the label on the can that the hospital had sent him off with. There’s just so many.

“Hey,” someone taps his shoulder gently.

Bucky sucks in a hard breath and turns, bracing himself for the inevitable _shut that kid up_ demand. But the actual brick wall of muscle he comes face to face with is smiling, ducking his head shyly. “Guh,” is all Bucky manages to come up with. The guy looks like a walking wet dream, all blue eyes and blond hair and shiny, pouty lips.

“You look a little overwhelmed,” the Greek God rubs a hand over the back of his neck, his cheeks actually blushing a soft rose color that Bucky could write sonnets about. “I used to know… a few things about babies. Does he cry like this a lot?”

“ _She_ cries like this _all the time_.” The words spill out before Bucky really considers whether or not he wants to share the information with this total stranger, however unreal he may be. Maybe he’s just desperate for human contact after five days with no one but a screaming newborn for company. The neighbors occasionally bang on his door and yell at him to lower the noise but that doesn’t really count.

“She probably has colic. What formula have you been giving her?”

“Uh… whatever the hospital gave me. I don’t know.”

“Okay….” The guy drags the word out, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. He grabs a can of formula off the shelf and drops it in Bucky’s basket. “That one should help. There’s a lot more options now than there were back when I was… familiar with infant care, but you know. It’s soy based so it’s gonna be easier on her stomach than your hospital formula.” His hands flutter at his sides before he gestures to Estelle, his face pinching at the way Bucky is bouncing her lightly in the crook of his arm. “I could try to calm her down. If… you know. If you want.”

Part of Bucky recoils hard at the idea of handing his baby over to a complete stranger, but he’s been nothing but helpful so far and Bucky is so tired and desperate. He swallows hard and shifts so the guy can carefully lift Estelle from his arm. It makes anxiety spark in his chest like a hundred tiny fireworks exploding beneath his breastbone. If he thought she was tiny in his arms, it was nothing compared to this. The guy supports her head and cradles her entire body in one hand. He could break her without even trying, but he’s nothing but gentle as he catches her flailing arms and tucks them to her chest, turning her so she lays on her stomach across his palm and wrist. His other hand rubs lightly across her back. She lets out a few more ear splitting wails and then, miraculously, quiets.

“How?” Bucky stares at her. The little traitor. She’s blinking big, cloudy brown eyes and sucking on her lower lip.

“You’re bouncing her too hard,” the Baby Whisperer says. “Babies are a lot like cans of soda. Shake them too much and they’re gonna explode. They get motion sick too, you know.”

That…does make sense. God, he’s so stupid. He should have been able to figure that out on his own, he’s a smart guy. Shit, he’s already fucking this up. He’s no good for her. He’s the reason why she’s sick all the time.

“Hey, c’mon man, you gotta breathe.” The guy stops rubbing Estelle’s back to reach out and pat Bucky on the shoulder. “It’s okay, you’re new to this. Don’t blame yourself.”

Bucky sucks in a gasping breath, blinking back the tears pricking his eyes. “Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry. I- I didn’t even realize what I was doing.”

“No worries. Hey, do you need to get anything else? Because I can hold her while you finish your shopping if that’s easier for you.”

“Don’t you have to do your own shopping?” Bucky squints at the guy. No way would he have ever offered to help some random stranger in town with their kid while they shopped. He tries to get in and out as fast as he possibly can and if that makes him Not A Good Samaritan, then so be it.

The guy flushes bright pink again, ducking his head. His shoulders curl in, just slightly. Like he’s uncomfortable in his brick shithouse body. “No, I- I just came in here to roam. My work schedule is…erratic and sitting in an apartment with nothing to do gets old really fast. I like to walk around the city and see how it’s changed from my childhood days here.”

Hm. Bucky isn’t sure what to make of that explanation because he would fucking love to just be able to sit in his apartment fucking around on Netflix all day but maybe this guy is the type that draws energy from being around people. So he shrugs and motions down the aisle because he does have other shit he needs to get. “You a Brooklyn kid, then?”

“Yeah,” the guy falls into step beside him. “Born and raised in Brooklyn Heights.”

“Rich,” Bucky hums. He grabs a case of chicken flavored instant ramen off the shelf and tosses it in his basket. The guy wrinkles his nose. He probably eats five star meals every night but Bucky was incapable of feeding himself real food before all of his time was consumed with a baby. He’s sure as hell not gonna try to cook anything harder than boiling water in the microwave now. “I’m Bucky, by the way. Bucky Barnes.”

“Steve.” The guy wrinkles his nose again when Bucky adds a can of Easy Cheese and a giant box of Goldfish to the cart. The thing is, he’s not even sure Steve realizes he’s making that face. But beggars really can’t be choosers and even if he had the time and motivation, Bucky cannot cook. It’s junk food and an early death from heart disease for him. Those are just the cards he’s been dealt.

Steve doesn’t comment on his grocery choices as they make the slow round of the store, mostly loading up on frozen pizzas and burritos. By the time Bucky wheels the basket into the checkout line, Estelle has fallen asleep and there’s a line of drool on Steve’s hand from her open mouth, but the guy doesn’t seem to notice or mind it. “Thanks for your help,” Bucky offers a smile as he loads his groceries onto the conveyor belt. He truly has no idea how he’s supposed to manage to carry them all back with him but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble.” Steve smiles back, so bright it’s almost blinding. “I don’t really get the opportunity to hold many babies these days. I enjoyed it. Thank _you_ for trusting me.”

Bucky hands the cashier the stack of canvas bags he brought with him for the groceries- he’s a millennial and he cares about the environment, okay?- and pulls his wallet out. He holds his debit card between his teeth until the cashier gives him his total. It’s quite a bit more than his usual grocery bill. Diapers and formula are fucking expensive.

“Your card declined.” The cashier deadpans, evidently bored out of her mind. “Insufficient funds.”

“What the fuck?” Bucky mumbles, his cheeks burning hotly. He could swear he had enough on there. The phone and internet bill shouldn’t have been charged to his account yet unless… “What’s today’s date?”

“October sixteenth,” Steve says, a furrow between his brows.

“ _Shit_.” That would be why then. God, not even a week and he’s already losing track of the date. Shit, shit, shit. He _has_ to get this stuff for Estelle and he’s already missing out on a week’s worth of pay from taking off. Shit. “Okay, uh. Can you just take off the food and just let me get the diapers and formula?”

The cashier rolls her eyes and reaches for the bags again.

“No,” Steve pipes up and hands Estelle over to Bucky, so smoothly that she doesn’t even stir from her sleep as she settles against his shoulder. Before Bucky can even protest, Steve is pulling a fucking black StarkCard from his wallet and swiping it. “I got it.” He flashes the cashier a smile and grabs all of the bags in one hand, gesturing for Bucky to walk in front of him. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky says, face burning hot. “Seriously, Steve. I would have been fine; I still have food at my place.” If a jar of peanut butter and some saltine crackers counted as food. He’s kind of a disaster. It doesn’t bode well for the whole being a good dad thing. And even though he’s well aware that his sixty dollar grocery bill won’t put a dent in the account that card is linked to, he still hates the idea of charity. He’s had enough of that in his life already.

“Bucky, I have a job that pays me more money than I will ever be able to spend and I grew up poorer than the dirt on the bottom of your shoe. I know what going hungry is like; it’s no skin off my back to do this for you, to make sure you have…food. If that’s what you wanna call your choice of groceries. Consider it a thank you for letting me hold your baby for twenty minutes.” He pauses as they step out into the chilly afternoon air. Autumn is descending on New York in all its beauty, the trees already starting to turn golden. “Which car is yours?”

“Don’t have one. I walked.”

“Fine, which direction then?”

“That way,” Bucky points down the street. “But I can take it from here, really.” He really doesn’t want Rich Steve to see his piece of shit apartment. He might take it on himself to contact child services and report Bucky as an unfit parent and honestly he would be within his right if he did. Or maybe Steve is just being nice to lull him into a false sense of security and he’s actually a kidnapper or a serial killer or something. “It’s just a couple blocks.”

Steve shoots him a dubious look, lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted. “Buck, c’mon. You can’t carry her and these safely. Not that far. Let me walk you back and then I swear you never have to hear from me again if you don’t want to. I know it’s probably weird for you. I swear I just like helping where I can.”

If Bucky ever manages to catch up on sleep, he’ll probably voluntarily kick his own ass for this, but the sincerity is so stark on Steve’s face, ocean blue eyes watching him earnestly and he is such a sucker. “Just don’t be a serial killer, please,” he sighs, and sets off down the block.

“Oh, well, since you said please…” Steve’s eyes sparkle, full of teasing laughter. “I guess I can rein in the urge.”

“You better,” Bucky shifts his hold on Estelle and reaches for the groceries with his free hand. “Give me a couple of those; your arm’s gotta be killing you.” Because Steve is still holding all six bags in one fist and at Bucky’s words, he looks down like he forgot they were there entirely.

“Don’t worry about it, they’re not that heavy.” He doesn’t even bother to shift half of them to his other hand. Evidently whatever workout plan his personal trainer has him on is working for him. Fuck, he could probably bench press Bucky with one hand and not even break a sweat.

It’s ridiculously hot.

He bites down hard on his lower lip and forces his gaze away from the way Steve’s pecs and biceps work as he moves. This is just the sleep deprivation speaking. He’s a dad now; he can’t afford to work himself up into a bisexual crisis over every beautiful person he sees anymore.

“So, what do you do for work?” Steve queries, drawing Bucky’s attention back to him. “Wait, no. Let me guess… you run a daycare, right?”

“Fuck off,” Bucky bursts into laughter, his cheeks pinking when Steve gets a pleased little smile on his face. “Probably couldn’t be any worse than where I am though,” he says when he sobers. “I’m a receptionist at a law firm. Shitty boss and shitty pay, but it was enough to keep the lights on and the landlord from knocking. Or it was until a week ago,” he pats Estelle’s back gently. “Kinda didn’t expect this to come up.” It’s probably about time for him to really start putting effort into finding an actual job that will put his engineering degree to work. Today has proved that he needs to find something better paying and fast.

“You didn’t know?” Steve tilts his head, crinkling his eyes in the sun.

“Nah. I had a messy breakup with her mother about six months ago and we didn’t speak or see each other until she called me up from the hospital in the middle of the night and told me to come put my name on the birth certificate or she was handing Estelle here over to child services. And here we are, I guess. I have shit by the way of baby supplies and no clue what to do with her- evidently- but me ‘n her are gonna be hanging out from now on.”

“You love her though,” Steve points out. “That’s the most important thing, I think. My ma raised me by herself and it was hard, yeah, but she loved me more than anything. We didn’t have much but she always made it work. You will too. And hey, you’ll find that Right Person to share your life with eventually. You’re young; your life is barely starting.”

“I’m not that young,” Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “You make it out to sound like I’m some teenager and you’re ninety or something.”

Steve snorts- actually snorts- and it ought to kill the little flame of attraction that’s been kindling in Bucky’s stomach since he first laid eyes on him, but instead it makes it burn brighter. “Something like that,” the blond mutters, shaking his head.

“So how do you know so much about babies?” He’d said a couple of things that made it clear that he didn’t have kids of his own, but he was extremely familiar with them. “Oldest child of a big family?”

“Oh, no. Only child, actually. I just….” he sighs and shakes his head. “Spent more time around babies than I did kids my own age.”

“You didn’t have school?”

“I had a lot of health problems as a kid, so my mom taught me at home until I hit high school.”

“Must’ve outgrown them, huh? You look like the picture of health now.” Bucky waves his hand at Steve. And all his gorgeous, gorgeous muscled glory.

“Yeah, I’m a real miracle of science,” Steve deadpans, but his eyes are darting all over Bucky’s face, a furrow between his brows like he’s expecting a certain response. When Bucky doesn’t give him one, he frowns harder and looks at his feet.

They walk along in silence, kicking at the fallen leaves on the sidewalk. Steve appears to be deep in thought but when Bucky halts at the door to his building, Steve comes to a stop next to him. “This is me.” He reaches for the groceries, but Steve smiles and holds them just out of his reach. Of course he does. Bucky’s only known the guy for about forty five minutes and it’s already becoming glaringly obvious that Steve Last Name Unknown is a stubborn little shit. He rolls his eyes and punches the code into the keypad, pulling the door open when it unlocks with a buzz. “I’m on the top floor. It’s a lot of stairs, fair warning. This is your chance to back out now.”

“I raced my friend slash co-worker up eighty flights of stairs last week. This is nothing.”

“Do you both have a death wish?” Bucky gapes at him. He’d rather throw himself down eighty flights of stairs than race someone up them. He goes to the gym, he’s not completely out of shape, but that just sounds like broken legs waiting to happen.

“There was a bet going on,” Steve shrugs, like that’s a good reason to run up eighty fucking flights of stairs. “And I won. In case you were wondering.”

“I hope the prize was a fucking Maserati or some shit.”

“Not quite.” The thousand watt sunshine smile is back in full force and Steve takes the steps three at a time, pausing at each landing to wait for Bucky to catch up to him. It takes him an embarrassingly long time, but he could take them at least one at a time on High Speed if he wasn’t trying not to jostle and wake Estelle. When he had signed his lease, they had offered him an apartment on the ground floor but he had declined it because he had been young and cocky and convinced that being forced to climb stairs every day was good for him. He’s regretted that decision a _lot_ over the past three years, but never more than now.

He’s huffing and puffing like the fucking wolf from the three piggies fable by the time he reaches the fifth floor landing and Steve hasn’t even broken a sweat, his breathing still deep and even. “Fuck you,” Bucky pants, leaning against the bannister and gulping in air like it’s going out of style.

“Not in front of the children, Sweetheart,” Steve grins at him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Which one is yours?”

Bucky blinks. Was that flirting? Is Hot Athletic Baby Whisperer Rich Steve actually flirting with him? Is he hallucinating this entire thing out of a sleep deprived delirium? “5C.” His voice is a good octave and a half higher than it should be. _That’s_ embarrassing. But at least if Steve notices, he doesn’t say anything. Just waits patiently by the apartment door while Bucky fishes his keys out of his pocket. “Um. My place is kind of a wreck right now. I haven’t really had the time or energy to clean anything up this week.”

“Understandable. Babies are hard work.” Steve follows him into the dim, cramped space.

The entire place is only three rooms: bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen/living room. The landlord really doesn’t give a shit about anything, which means the paint is peeling off the walls in places, and the linoleum might have been white once but it’s yellow now and it’s been that way since before Bucky moved in. The light fixtures and wall outlets had exposed wires when he moved in, but his ridiculously expensive and thus far fruitless engineering degree was good for something at least. He’d repaired that himself. Really not interested in the place burning down around his ears, thanks. “You can dump the groceries on the counter. Seriously, your arm’s gotta be about to fall off by now. I’m just gonna go try to put her down in the bed and hope she stays asleep.”

“Remember to always put her on her back,” Steve murmurs, moving to the tiny kitchen area. “Don’t want her to suffocate.”

“I know. I’m only ninety nine point nine percent a disaster. I did read the directions the hospital gave me.” He had even made an account on babynamewizard.com so he could be a part of the parenting forums but he hadn’t had the opportunity to do the reading yet. Pretty much every hour that Estelle was asleep was an hour where he was asleep too. He pushes open the door to his bedroom and grimaces at the musty odor of dirty diapers and baby vomit. Getting out in the fresh air for a few hours had evidently refreshed his palate to the grossness he had gone nose-blind to. He crouches next to the mattress and carefully lays Estelle down in the middle, grabbing the sheet and bunching it around her head and under her chin to keep her neck from ending up in a weird position and to keep her chin off her chest. He’s following the direction packet religiously at this point.

He leaves the door open so he can hear if she cries and goes back to the front room to find Steve stacking the pizzas in the freezer. “You didn’t have to do that.” Jesus, is this guy just like the Patron Saint of Helpfulness or something?

Steve shrugs, sliding the last one on the shelf and swinging the door shut. “It’s not like it’s some great chore. I was here and they’d been out of the freezer long enough that I figured they were probably starting to defrost.”

Grabbing a couple bags, Bucky starts unloading their contents into his bare cabinets. “Thanks. For covering the groceries. I don’t think I said it before but I really appreciate it, man. If you leave your number or Paypal I can repay you when I get my check next week.”

“Don’t worry about it, Buck. Really.” Steve leans his hip against the counter, an easy smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I don’t have anything better to spend it on anyway; it’s all sitting unused in a bank account.”

Must be fucking nice. “You ought to be careful with your generosity, Steve. New York is full of bad, bad people who would take advantage of it.” Not Bucky, but some people. 

“I consider myself a pretty good judge of character.” Steve’s phone dings and he pulls it out of his pocket, sighing when he looks at it. The easy, relaxed posture fades away, his shoulders stiffening. “Well. Duty calls. I’ll get out of your hair now. It was nice to meet you. And Estelle.”

“Yeah, you too. Thanks for the help with her; I’ll try to watch out for the jostling thing from now on.” He walks Steve to the door, shaking his hand and locking it behind him after he leaves. The apartment seems desperately empty when he turns back to it, even though he only had Steve in his space for a few minutes. They’ll probably never meet again. He sighs and turns his attention to the mess. While he’d like to just go to bed and pass out next to Estelle, the place is one dirty diaper away from pigsty. “Just another eighteen years of this. Yay.”

***

Loud pounding on his front door wakes Bucky from a dead sleep the next morning. And Estelle. She squirms against his chest and lets out an ear splitting wail. “I’m about to kill whoever has the _audacity_ -” Bucky rolls to his feet, rubbing the baby’s back as he stomps to the door and flings it open. “ _What_?”

“Delivery for Barnes,” a guy in a blue cap holds a clipboard and pen out to him. “Sign here.” He’s got a large pink box balanced precariously on his hip.

“I didn’t order anything…” Bucky stammers.

“Your name Bucky Barnes?”

“Yeah.”

“Then this box has your name on it. Look, just sign the form, man, this is heavy. Maybe it’s a gift.”

Bucky grabs the pen and scribbles his name on the bottom of the sheet. “Just set it down, I don’t have the hands to carry it.” He waits until the guy leaves to push the box into his apartment with his foot. Much as he’d love to just sit on the floor and open it now, Estelle is still pitching a fit and he needs to soothe her first. He changes her diaper while a bottle is warming. Tests the temperature on his wrist before popping it in her mouth. She wails around the nipple a couple of times before latching on, the apartment falling to blessed silence. He grabs a pair of scissors from the junk drawer and sits down by the box, laying Estelle in his lap, bottle propped against his hip so he has both hands.

The tape holding the lid on the box slices easily and he pulls it off, tossing it aside. There’s a note card on top of a pile of yellow tissue paper. His breath punches out of his chest when he reads it.

_Bucky, I hope this isn’t overstepping but you said you don’t really have any baby supplies and I didn’t have anything better to do on my flight than online shop. I feel better about buying this stuff that you need rather than whatever dumb shit I might have bought for myself. If you want to yell at me, you can. But send a picture of her in the fuzzy PJs, I can’t get over how cute baby clothes are now. Steve._

Underneath his name is a phone number. “Jesus Christ, this guy.” He’s not sure whether he should be considering him a fucking guardian angel from heaven sent to save Bucky from total failure because he’s a disaster or if he should be uncomfortable because he only met the guy once. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth and pulls the tissue paper out of the box, tossing it aside. There’s a package of three pacifiers right on top, one pink, one purple, one blue. The next item he pulls out is a set of bottles that are shaped like tits. The packaging says it’s meant to simulate breast feeding and help with colic. Huh.

There are two packs of burping cloths, five in each. A bulk sized pack of baby wipes. Diaper rash cream, baby nail clippers, a nose suction. And underneath that, outfit after outfit, neatly folded in little plastic bags. He takes each one out, smiling in spite of himself. They’re just so tiny, newborn sized but they’re going to swallow Estelle anyway. Most of them are plain colored little onesies and sleepers- the basics- but there’s also a couple of frilly dresses with matching booties, a pair of pajamas that look like the Captain America suit but in pink, white, and lavender. And then there’s the fuzzy PJs. They’re zip up and footed, with little mittens on the sleeve to cover her hands and a hood. And they’re gonna turn her into a little living teddy bear. Ears on the hood, cream colored oval on her stomach. Steve was right. They’re fucking cute and Bucky is comfortable enough in his masculinity to admit he literally coos when he holds it up.

He tosses one of his new burp cloths over his shoulder and lifts Estelle to lie against his chest, patting her back gently until she gurgles and burps and spits up. He wipes the cottage cheese looking liquid out of her mouth with a corner of the burp cloth and then he carefully zips her into pajamas. She blinks up at him docilely, big brown eyes fringed with curling lashes. She takes after her mother, dark curls and dark eyes and the redness her skin had right after being born is already fading out to a soft brown. But she has a dimple in her chin just like him. He presses his pinky finger to it, smiling down at her. “You’re just the cutest human on the planet, baby girl. I love you so much.”

He gathers her up in his arms and reaches for the note card, pushing to his feet and going to grab his phone from his room. Ironically enough, the bathroom has the best lighting in his apartment so he takes Estelle in there and lays her down on his fuzzy white bath mat. She only has like three facial expressions total and there’s no guarantee she’ll make any of them, but he starts snapping photos, talking to her about each one like she can even understand him. And then she smiles. And he gets it on camera.

And then he tears up, sniffling and hugging her to his chest. How could anyone not want her? Everything Alicia gave up by signing her rights away, he gets to be the one to experience it all. He gets to be the one to see her smile for the first time and laugh for the first time and take her first steps and say her first word. He’s gonna get to be the one that bandages her scraped knees and takes her out for ice cream sundaes. It’s worth every damn sleepless night and then some. His bottom lip is still wobbling as he creates a contact for Steve and attaches the picture. He doesn’t have a single other person on earth that he can gush to about how amazing his baby is so if Steve is offering… Bucky is gonna grab ahold of that with both hands and he’s not letting go.

**Bucky: she smiled for the first time!!! u really shouldn’t have steve but holy shit!!! im having cuteness overload and crying in my bathroom floor!!! thank u!!!!**

Almost immediately three dots show up on the screen. They disappear and come back a few times before the message finally comes through.

**Rich Steve: AWW! You have the cutest baby I’ve ever seen, Bucky.**

**Rich Steve: Not gonna tell me I’m overstepping and to mind my own business?**

**Bucky: well i might have but i rlly did need this shit so im gonna swallow my pride and say thank u ur my hero i owe u my life etc etc**

**Rich Steve: You’re very welcome :)**

Bucky hauls himself to his feet, adjusting his hold on Estelle as he stands. As cute as the pajamas are, he knows all too well that the clock is ticking down until she throws up or fills her diaper again and if she’s gonna stain something right away, he would rather it be one of the little onesies. It’s a little warm in the apartment anyway. He heads back into the main room and changes her quickly, folding the bear pajamas and setting them aside. Whenever she naps next, he’ll try to repurpose the box it all came in into storage for the stuff. No way he’s fitting anything else into his closet right now. God, he’s a disaster. 

He yawns and roams over to the coffee maker, awkwardly setting it to brew with one hand. There are approximately a billion things he should be doing- answering work emails, cleaning his shitshow of an apartment, doing laundry. Instead he sits on his couch, waiting for the sweet relief of caffeine, and plays with his daughter. Not that a newborn can really play, but she’s watching him with big eyes, her lower lip going in and out like she’s sucking on an imaginary pacifier. “Hey there, Stellie. Hi, baby.” He speaks softly- the last thing he wants is to startle her into crying again. “You seem to be in a better mood today. Gonna give your dear old dad a break? I’d really appreciate it.” Dear old dad. Fucking _christ_ he’s becoming one of them already. He shudders. “Forget I called myself that okay? I’m young. I’m young!”

Estelle blinks at him. And then projectile vomits all over his front. He sighs. Well, he couldn’t expect the peace to last forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished this chapter and im simply too much of an attention whore to wait the full week to update so here you go ur welcome also if ur a bootlicker don't read this chapter or it'll make you mad... i didn't lie tho

Steve Rogers lets himself into his lifeless, dark apartment and leans against the closed door. He’s tired, and not in a physical way. The future for all its screens and lights has been cold and empty, the year and a half he’s been out of the ice. It all feels… impermanent. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop, to lose everything again. The solution is simple: he doesn’t form attachments so he can’t get hurt. He loops the strap of the shield over the hook on the wall and drops his keys on the table, flipping on the lights as he heads for the bedroom. The mission had been like every other one SHIELD has sent him on- not enough information on _why_ he’s carrying out these deeds. Fury points and he shoots. There’s something about it that doesn’t sit right, but he doesn’t know what to do with himself when he’s not fighting. 

He drops his bag on the floor and strips off his clothes. He’s a little dirty from the mission he just got back from but he still flops stomach-first across his massive bed. It’s memory foam and it’s truly the most comfortable thing he’s ever laid on. Unfortunately that doesn’t mean he can ever manage to fall asleep on it though. He doesn’t know how long he lays there, face mashed into the duvet as the shadows get longer before he finally sighs and reaches over the edge of the mattress to dig his phone from the pocket of his jeans. 

There’s a new message from Natasha- an offer for a date that he has no interest in going on. Every woman she’s set him up with has taken one look at him and treated him… like exactly what he is. A relic. A symbol of America with a healthy serving of abs. Not a single one of them ever even called him by his actual name. The only person he’s actually spent more than five minutes talking to in this crazy future that’s treated him like just another normal guy is… Bucky. Steve swipes over to the messages even though Bucky hasn’t said anything since their very short conversation over the things Steve’d had shipped over for the baby.

It was a horribly forward move of him- spending hundreds of dollars like that on this random guy’s kid. But it just seemed like they needed a little help. It’s not like he has anything else to do with the millions of dollars SHIELD has pumped into his bank account. And the half hour that Bucky had let Steve hold his baby and trail him around the store and the blocks to his apartment had been probably the best conversation he’d had since the 40s. Maybe it was down to the fact that Bucky hadn’t seemed to recognize him at all, completely blank faced at every hint Steve had given him. What normal guy- no matter how athletic- races up eighty flights of stairs on a dare? Maybe when, _if_ Bucky had the chance to realize who he was, he’d treat Steve like everyone else too. 

His mom had brought him up to help those in need where you could. If he thought for a minute that it wouldn’t be weird and socially unacceptable, he’d be offering to help Bucky get into a better apartment because the place that he was living now was a shithole. And Steve has lived in a lot of shitholes in his life, he’s certified to make that judgement. The kitchen was cramped, nearly no counter space and an ancient stove and refrigerator. Granted, it didn’t seem like Bucky ever cooks, based on his choice of groceries. Steve’s stomach turns over just thinking about it. 

As bad as the food in the 30s had been, there’s something about modern, processed and ready to eat food that tastes so fake, stale in his mouth. He has a few junk food vices that he’s discovered and can’t get enough of, like peanut butter oreos, but for the most part he tries to eat real food. He’s getting better at cooking too, after that week where the nightmares wouldn’t leave him alone and he spent the majority of his nights losing himself in the rhythm of finding his way around the kitchen to the background noise of Youtube tutorials. It’s not much, but he’s not stuck ordering takeout every day at least. 

He taps his fingers against the side of the phone and sighs. This is probably a terrible idea and it’ll probably make Bucky uncomfortable and he’ll probably block Steve’s number because who wants to be friends with the overly familiar guy they met in the grocery store? But he types out the message and hits send. 

**Steve: What are you doing for dinner tonight?**

It’s a few minutes before his phone dings with a reply. 

**Bucky: prb drowning a frozen bean burrito in the taco bell hot sauce packets i found in my jean pockets and wishing i was washing it down w vodka instead of water :((((( why**

Well, that settles it. The description of that dinner is a crime. He can’t leave Bucky alone to that sad, sad fate. And well, Steve Rogers is a lying liar who lies, much as Captain America is a symbol for truth and justice. 

**Steve: I have a lasagna in my freezer that just needs to be cooked but it’s too much for me to eat by myself. I could bring some of the extra over if you wanted to eat something other than that depressing burrito.**

He could absolutely demolish the entire dish by himself in one sitting, but Bucky needs something nourishing more than Steve needs the extra calories. He’ll drink an extra protein shake in the morning or something. And he’s absolutely only doing this out of a need to help where he can, definitely not because Bucky’s dark hair and sharp cheekbones had been mesmerising or how even the stubble and unbrushed hair and dark circles under his eyes could take away from how gorgeous the guy was. Or his adorable baby. 

Steve is so, so fucked.

**Bucky: dude ur too nice for your own good**

**Bucky: that sounds incredible but i dont wanna put u out dw abt it**

**Steve: I’m the one who offered. You wouldn’t be putting me out! Call it me paying forward karma by helping out a single parent in exchange for everyone who helped me and my mom :)**

**Bucky: guess i’ll see you in a bit then… thank you**

**Steve: Anytime!**

He rolls off the bed and grabs a t-shirt from his closet before he heads into the kitchen. The sooner that he gets the lasagna cooked, the sooner he can see Bucky and Estelle. He queues up the playlist that Natasha is always adding to- songs she thinks he needs to listen to. They’ve been pairing up on SHIELD missions since the Battle of New York and she’s probably the closest thing he has to a friend right now. He sets the oven to preheat while he pulls the lasagna from the freezer and covers the top of the dish in foil, sliding it onto the rack. It’ll take about an hour and a half so he has plenty of time to shower and get ready. Not that this is a date or anything, of course not. Still, he shouldn’t still have rubble dust in his hair and dirt under his nails. 

Showering is one of the luxuries of the future that he relishes in. Standing under the scalding hot pressurized spray of water lets him drift away, relax. When he’d discovered that there were even better options than the showerhead that had come preinstalled in his apartment, he’d headed down to the hardware store and after yet another Youtube tutorial marathon, had changed it out for one with a ton of different flow and pressure options. He scrubs shampoo through his hair, rough knuckles his scalp, getting every bit of the filth out. 

When he gets out of the shower, he wraps the towel around his waist and stands in front of the mirror frowning at his hair. The last time he’d gone to the barber, they’d trimmed it too short on top and it just doesn’t lay right now and he hasn’t been able to do much other than run some gel through it and hope for the best. It ends up spikier than he’d prefer, but there’s not much he can do about that. By the time he’s dressed the lasagna is nearly done. All he has to do is take the foil off so the cheese on top can get crispy. He’s got an insulated bag that he can pack the whole dish in so it’ll stay warm until he gets to Bucky’s.

The sun is starting to set as he pulls his bike up in front of Bucky’s building. He unstraps the bag and heads for the door, texting Bucky to let him know to buzz him up. When the door unlocks, he heads up to the fifth floor and knocks.

Bucky opens the door almost as soon as Steve’s knuckles hit the wood. He still looks exhausted, his eyes heavy and bloodshot, but he’s smiling.

And Steve suddenly understands the internet’s fascination with grey sweatpants. He swallows hard and holds up the bag. “Lasagna, fresh out of the oven.”

“You could’a eaten first,” Bucky steps back to let Steve into the apartment. It’s cleaner now than it had been when Steve had visited after the grocery store but it’s still dismal. “I don’t have a table to offer so it’s the couch or the floor, I’m afraid.”

“That’s fine.” Steve sets the bag on the counter, reaching in to pull out the dish. “Where’s the baby?”

“Asleep, thank god.” Bucky pulls open a cabinet and produces a couple of plates. “Flatware is in the drawer to your right. I don’t really have anything that’ll be great for serving but I guess we can make do with a fork and knife.”

“Oh, I brought this.” Steve pulls out the metal serving spatula he’d tossed into the bag before he left. He dishes up a generous square of the lasagna onto each of their plates and puts the foil back over the pan. “I make a lot of casseroles, so I had it on hand.” He opens the drawer Bucky had directed him to and grabs two forks, one for each plate.

Bucky smirks at him, leaning one hip against the counter as he takes a plate and pokes his fork into the lasagna. “Wow, I’m in the presence of a real adult.” He takes a bite, his eyes closing, “ _Fuck_ , this is good.”

“You’re a parent, pretty sure that makes you a real adult.”

He wrinkles his nose and Steve hadn’t known it was possible for noses to look so… delectable. And yet somehow Bucky’s is. God, he’s losing it. Bucky swallows and shakes his head. “Nah. Like ninety nine percent of the time I have no clue what I’m doing. Make it like a hundred and ninety nine when you add in Estelle. I’m just taking each minute as it comes and trying to do my best with what I have but not _once_ have I ever felt like an adult qualified to take care of _myself_ , let alone anyone else.” He stabs at the lasagna and jerks his head toward the couch. “You wanna sit?”

“That’s what adulthood is though, I think.” Steve shrugs and follows Bucky to the well worn sofa. “Nobody knows what’s going on. All we can do is try to make do with what life gives us. I used to think I knew exactly where life was going to take me, and it’s gone a completely different direction that I could have never predicted in my wildest dreams. We all pretend like we have our shit together but nobody does, really.” He was supposed to die early of flu or heart attack or asthma or maybe just getting his skull knocked in with a brick in some alley. And yet here he is.

Bucky’s silent as he takes another bite, chewing and swallowing with his brows furrowed. “The truth is, I have to go back to work the day after tomorrow or else I get fired and I don’t have money for a sitter for Estelle so basically I’m fucked.”

“No family?”

“Parents died in the Chitauri invasion last year. I didn’t even… they only identified my dad because he was wearing his dog tags.” 

“Oh.” Steve swallows hard, looking down at his plate. The casualties from the battle had been staggering but he’d learned to compartmentalize it during the war when he could. It wasn’t so easy when he talked to the people who were affected by it. The truth is, he could have done more. If he hadn’t been slowed by shock those couple of times, if he hadn’t done this or that. Maybe those people wouldn’t have died. His hands are dripping red with blood at this point and no matter how much good he’s trying to do with his work, it’ll never bring back the ones he wasn’t good enough to save. If Bucky realized who he was, he probably wouldn’t want anything to do with Steve at all. “I’m so sorry,” he says, soft. Bucky has no idea how much. 

“‘S not your fault.” 

Little does he know.

“Christ,” Bucky takes another bite of his lasagna, “I didn’t mean to make this so depressing, man. I guess I’m out of practice hanging out with people.”

“I’m not great at it either.” Steve forces a smile and sets his plate to the side, appetite gone. “I was… away for a _long_ time. Seems like when I got back everyone I knew from before had moved on or passed or didn’t even remember me at all and I never was very good at making new friends so I just… didn’t. I know a few people from work but I’d really only consider one close enough to be a friend.”

“I think you’re easy to talk to so maybe you’re better at making friends than you-” he cuts off, his head twisting toward the open bedroom door as the baby starts crying. “Oh, fuck my life.” He stands, setting his plate aside. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve watches him disappear through the doorway, waits for him to be out of sight before he puts his head in his hands and bites his lip hard enough to taste copper on his tongue. Of course the first normal person he actually tries to make friends with this century is directly affected by his failure. He should tell Bucky who he really is. 

But he actually does enjoy being around him and if he says anything, he’ll lose that. Obviously nothing in his life can just be fucking easy. 

Bucky emerges from the room, cradling Estelle in the crook of his elbow. She’s still crying, tiny arms flailing. “I guess the time got away from me and now she’s hungry.”

“I can hold her while you make a bottle,” Steve offers, perking up. “I mean, if you want. It’s probably a lot easier with two hands.”

“Yeah… thank god I grew up ambidextrous. I’m discovering I’m surprisingly adept at doing things one handed.” Bucky grins, stepping toward Steve to lean down and place the baby in his waiting arms before heading for the tiny kitchen area.

Steve supports her with one arm, catching one of her hands in his, letting her wrap her tiny fingers around the tip of his pinky. “Why so sad, angel?” He murmurs, nudging the dimple in her chin- just like Bucky’s- with his knuckle. “Don’t you know you got the whole big world waiting for you to make a mark on it?” At his voice, she quiets, blinking up at him. “There you go. Once you get your belly full, then you’ll be all ready to go.” Growing up, he’d accepted that he’d never have a child of his own. No girl was interested enough to get that close to him in the first place, if he didn’t die first, so it had never been a dream he’d ever even considered having. Wasn’t even aware it was something he wanted.

But maybe he does. Maybe he does want that. 

It’s not feasible with his job, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting. He traces his fingertips over Estelle’s velvet soft cheek, smiles when she smiles and his heart clenches in his chest, aching, wanting. “I’ll watch her.” Steve blurts out, twisting around to look at Bucky. “When you go back to work. I can watch her for you.”

“Don’t you have a job?” Bucky stares at him, brows raised. 

“Um…” Technically ninety percent of the missions he takes for SHIELD are way below his pay grade and he only goes on them because he’s bored and sick of staring at his apartment walls or wandering around the city like a ghost. The only missions he’s contractually obligated for are the world crisis kind that the Avengers get called in on. Like New York. Natasha has been bugging him to take a break, to find something less violent to do with his life. Not that she has any room to judge him. But this could be that thing. Maybe it’ll go a little way towards atoning for Bucky’s parents. “I mean, I do, but it’s like… I work from home mostly and most of my business trips are optional, I just go on them for a change of pace, you know? So, I have the time and I don't even need the money so don’t worry about that. I’ll watch her.”

Bucky stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Dude. Are you like… some saint or something? A guardian angel? Normal people aren’t this nice.”

“Well, I’m not certified in childcare or anything,” Steve grins, “but I do know CPR and I know that you shouldn’t have to lose your job over this. If you’ll have me, you’ve got me.”

“Oh CPR? You’re more qualified than me. Christ, if I was the one still holding her, she’d still be trying to cry her little eyes out but the second you have her, she’s as quiet as can be.” Bucky’s returning smile wobbles a little at the corners, his shoulders slumping out of the tense stance Steve hadn’t even realized he’d had. He didn’t know it was possible to watch the stress drain out of someone quite that obviously. “Yeah, Steve, I’ll have you.”

***

The trouble with debit cards and online shopping is that Steve does not know when to stop. It doesn’t _feel_ like he’s spending real money when all he has to do is type in a number on the computer. Which is how he ends up express ordering a three hundred dollar bassinet, a five hundred dollar glider recliner, a two hundred and fifty dollar swing, a set of baby monitors, a nursery kit with a nose suction and tiny nail trimmers and other things, a gigantic box of diapers, wipes and a wipe warmer, and some more clothes in preparation for his babysitting assignment. He sets it all up in one of the empty rooms in his apartment- with the exception of the rocker; that goes in the living room- and stares at it with his hands on his hips. “Rogers, you are in too deep.”

“So is this why you’ve been turning down every date I try to set you up on?” Natasha pipes up behind him and he nearly jumps out of his skin. “You knock someone up?”

“Jesus _christ_ , Romanoff,” he clutches at his chest, heart pounding against his ribs. “You ever hear of knocking? Letting someone know you’re in their house before you scare them half to death?”

She shrugs. “Well?”

“I made a _friend_.” Steve frowns at her, crossing his arms. “He unexpectedly found out he had a child and he needs a babysitter for the time being because his work won’t give him time off. I decided to take that break you’re always nagging at me to have and help him out. I _didn’t_ get anyone pregnant.” His mother had made sure he’d had a more than adequate education on how to not end up in that position, thank you. 

“That’s sweet.” Nat leans up on her tiptoes to pat his cheek. “In that case, there’s this girl I think you would-”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. I can make the baby angle _work_. Lots of women love a big man holding a tiny baby.”

“No. She’s not even my baby, I’m not using her to try and get laid. I don’t even want to get laid.” Steve shoves past her, closing the door to the new makeshift nursery behind him and heads down the hallway toward the kitchen. 

“Everyone wants to get laid, Rogers.”

He flicks on the kitchen light and heads for the coffee maker. It’s just past 6:30am, which means Bucky will be here pretty soon to drop Estelle off so he can catch his train in time. It’s the least Steve can do to have coffee ready to offer him. “Asexual people don’t.”

“Are you asexual?” She jumps up to sit on the counter, swinging her feet back and forth. You’d never know it to look at her like this that she’s an international assassin. 

“No.” Steve pours the grounds into the filter and sets it to brew. “Maybe I’m saving myself for marriage.”

“Yeah, nice try. There’s no way you’re a virgin.”

He’s not. Not by a long shot. “That’s not what Tony Stark says and he’s the certified genius.”

“He’s an asshole who _thinks_ he’s always right.” Nat rolls her eyes. “Hey, I’m hungry, you got anything good for me today?”

“If I do, will you leave me alone about dating?” He reaches for the bread box, pulling out the chocolate chip muffins he’d made the night before. One he hands to her and two more of them he puts in a zip baggie and sets aside to give to Bucky- god knows if he even bothers to eat breakfast and if he does, it’s probably nothing healthy or filling. He doesn’t know how Bucky takes his coffee so he adds two sugars and some cream- that’s pretty neutral. Just as he’s finished screwing the lid on the thermos, the knock on the door sounds. He’d sent Bucky the code to get in so he doesn’t have to buzz him up every day. “Make yourself hidden.” Steve hisses at Nat, eyes narrowed dangerously. As it is, Bucky doesn’t recognize Steve, but there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t recognize Black Widow. 

He brushes his bangs off his forehead and heads for the door, smiling as he opens it. “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky blinks blearily at him, clutching the blanketed bundle of baby to his chest. “G’morning,” he mumbles. “How do you look so awake.”

Steve steps back, opening the door wider for Bucky to come in. “Some of us are morning people, I’m afraid. Come on in, you look like a man that needs coffee.”

“God, please.” Bucky shuffles inside, rubbing his free hand over his eyes. “Smells fuckin’ good in here.”

Natasha has somehow secured herself in the open beamwork of the kitchen ceiling- Steve spots her as soon as they walk in but Bucky is all but a zombie so he doesn’t notice her at least. Steve narrows his eyes at her and mimes slitting his throat when she wiggles her eyebrows and grins. He turns away and grabs the coffee thermos and bag of muffins off the counter, holding them toward Bucky. “Trade you coffee and breakfast for baby?”

“Hell yeah,” Bucky shifts and drops the dingy backpack that’s slung over one of his shoulders on the countertop and then transfers Estelle to Steve. She’s sleeping hard and barely stirs at the switch. “Um, her diapers and formula and clothes and shit are in the bag. I don’t have any emergency numbers but you have mine so yeah.” He takes the coffee and takes a long drink, his eyes slipping closed. “You’re a lifesaver, Steve. I mean that.”

Steve smiles and pats his shoulder, “She’s safe with me, Bucky.” 

“Mm.” Bucky blinks at him, then pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. “Shit. I gotta go.” He pulls the blanket away from Estelle to lean in and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back should be around four thirty-ish unless I have to stay late. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. Hey!” Steve grabs Bucky’s jacket sleeve before he can walk out of the kitchen and hands him the muffins. “Eat breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“You really are one of those morning people, huh?” Bucky grins crookedly at him but takes the bag from him. “See you this afternoon.”

Steve walks him to the door, locking it behind him and when he returns to the kitchen, Nat is sitting on the counter again, grinning wider than the cheshire cat. “ _What?_ ”

“He’s cute. You could’ve told me you prefer them more on the tall, dark, and handsome side and I would have stopped trying to set you up with the wrong kind.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve shifts his hold on Estelle so he can prepare his own cup of coffee. “Bucky is a friend.” Granted, a friend that he could happily spend the rest of his life reverently drawing every single one of his perfect, sleepy facial features and never get tired of, but Natasha shouldn’t be privy to that information even if it does seem that she reads him like a book. 

Not even that, she acts like he’s an audiobook broadcasting his story to her without even trying.

It’s a little unnerving. 

“Sure,” she agrees easily. “You know it’s okay, though, if you wanted to be more than friends, right?”

“Yes, Natasha. I went through the sensitivity training.” He rolls his eyes leaning back against the counter as he sips at his coffee. “This is Estelle, by the way.” The baby is sleeping soundly, the side of her face pressed against his chest, bottom lip sucking in and out of her mouth. He sets his mug down to tuck the blanket closer around her. When he glances up again, Natasha is flat out grinning at him. “ _What?_ ”

Her smile softens and she shakes her head. “Nothing, Steve. Really. Cute kid.”

***

The week flies by and by Friday afternoon, they have the routine down. Bucky drops Estelle off in the morning and Steve hands him coffee and some sort of breakfast that he can eat on the train, then Steve lets Estelle sleep while he rocks her and watches or reads something until she wakes up. He’ll feed and change her and then put her in the bassinet while he does a short workout- nothing taxing enough that he has to leave her to go shower, he saves those for the evenings. Sometimes he’ll take her out on a walk to pick up a few things from the store, but mostly they stay in the apartment. It’s quiet. It’s nice.

There had been the rough hour and a half on Wednesday morning when Estelle had cried and cried and cried and nothing he did seemed to soothe her until she finally wore herself out and fell asleep. But for the most part, she’s content. He doesn’t really mention that to Bucky, who complains every morning of rough nights where Estelle has him up at least once an hour. The growing dark circles under his eyes attest to it, but Steve doesn’t know what he could possibly suggest that might fix the problem.

Bucky texted saying he’s running late so Steve is dozing on the couch with Estelle laying across his chest, also asleep, when the knock on the door sounds. “Shit,” he mumbles, shifting his hold on the baby as he stands and heads to open it. The clock on the wall says it’s just past five thirty but when he peers through the peephole, Bucky is standing outside the door. He unlocks the bolts and pulls it open. “Hey.”

Bucky casts an amused eye over them. “Of course she’ll let _you_ sleep.”

“D’you wanna come in?” Steve steps back, like he does every day and Bucky follows him in, toeing off his shoes by the door. “Wasn’t really asleep, just… drifting a little.” His voice breaks on a yawn and he smiles sheepishly when Bucky laughs at him as he steps into the apartment. “How was your day?”

“Oh, same old. Shitty boss dumping all the paperwork on me. How I got stuck in this position, I’ll never know. Fuckin’ engineering degree doing me a whole lot of good.” Bucky shrugs and follows Steve into the living room, flopping down on the couch.

“You’re an engineer?”

“Yes. No.” He scowls. “I graduated last year and haven’t landed a job in the field but I got loans and bills that have to be paid and now a kid to raise, so. I might hate my job and I might feel like telling my boss to stick his paperwork where the sun doesn’t shine on a daily basis but I can’t quit.”

The gears of excessive helpfulness are already turning in Steve’s head. He hasn’t really had much of anything to do with Stark since the Chitauri invasion, but he _has_ encountered Pepper Potts on more than one occasion through the aftermath of the battle and he gets along well with her. If nothing else, she could probably offer some recommendations of places that Bucky could apply at. “I know some people through work-”

“Steve, please, you’ve already done way too much for me. I couldn’t ask you to.”

Steve purses his lips. “I offered, you didn’t ask. I know the CEO of Stark Industries.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Bucky breathes out, eyes widening slightly.

“Nah, her name’s Pepper, but I’m sure she’d appreciate the comparison.”

“If you weren’t holding my sleeping child, I’d throw this pillow at you for that terrible joke.” Bucky buries his face in said pillow instead, letting out a groan that Steve absolutely will not be recalling later for any reason. “What is it with you, man?” He sits back, looking more confused than anything. “Got a good samaritan complex or something? I don’t get it.”

More like a guilt complex. Steve shrugs and hopes Bucky can’t see it written all over his face. “Something like that. There are a lot of people who have the means to help others but they choose not to. Or when they do, it’s to give to some charity they don’t even care about for a tax break but they’ll do their best not to make eye contact with anyone on the street that they might see struggling. That they _could_ give a leg up in the world and never even feel a dent in their pocketbook, but they don’t, because the reality is they don’t care. Not on a personal level. They don’t _see_ anyone whose class is beneath them as anything more than a means to an end. They’ll exploit them for work and sit on their gathering billions while their labor workers struggle to survive. It’s not right.” He sighs, shaking his head. That was a rant he hadn’t totally meant to start on, but he still meant every word of it. “I have the means to help, so I do. I’ve been at the very bottom of the barrel before. I know quite well just how much a chance given can change someone’s life.”

“Huh.” Bucky blinks at him, lower lip drawn between his teeth and his brow furrowed. “That’s… a pretty awesome viewpoint, actually. Let me think about it?”

“‘Course.” His stomach chooses that moment to release a ridiculously loud growl and he rolls his eyes as Estelle shifts, whimpering, her eyelids fluttering open. Trust his stupid metabolism to wake the baby.

“Hungry?” Bucky snickers.

“Evidently my stomach has decided lunch was too long ago,” he sighs. “Are you hungry? We could make, um… enchiladas really quick? Maybe watch a movie? If you wanted to hang out.” It sounds as stupid and pathetically lonely as he is. Desperate to keep some life in his apartment for a little while longer before Bucky goes home and Steve’s left alone with the emptiness again. 

“I am _always_ down to eat enchiladas, but I don’t know what you mean by _we_ could make, because pal, if I try to cook, your kitchen may end up on fire.”

“It’s not that hard. I’ll show you how.” Steve leans forward to pass Estelle to Bucky. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen, I just gotta grab something first.” He heads down the hall to the little nursery room he’d stocked and grabs the swing. It’s pretty lightweight, not that it would matter if it wasn’t. Bucky is waiting in the kitchen, leaning back against the island. He looks up as Steve enters the room, eyes widening at the sight of the swing. “You can put her in this, that way we both have hands free to cook.”

Bucky steps up as he sets the swing down, leaning over to settle Estelle in the cradle. “I’m telling you, I literally set my stove on fire trying to make scrambled eggs once.”

“I have faith in you.” Steve pulls open the refrigerator, grabbing the leftover chicken breasts that he had baked the night before. He sets the container on the counter and gets out a clean bowl then moves to the sink to wash his hands. “First thing, all we have to do is shred up this chicken. No fire involved.” He waits until Bucky has washed his hands before starting. Standing close enough to both reach the bowls, it’s clear just how tired Bucky is, the shadows under his eyes looking more like bruises than anything. He’d like to be able to wipe them away, to see him without the weight of exhaustion all over his face. But he’s already doing about as much as Bucky will let him. 

“So you never said what you do for work,” Bucky starts, glancing over at him. He’s flushed, a little bit, eyes darting away and back to Steve’s face multiple times. “I mean you said you work from home and know Pepper Potts… are you in tech?”

“Oh. No.” Steve swallows hard and looks down at his hands, focusing way harder on the task than necessary so he doesn’t have to look Bucky in the eye. “I used to be in the Army but now, um. I guess you could say I’m in government intelligence?”

“Holy shit. Are you a spy?”

“No,” Steve grins, glancing up at him. That’s the last thing he could possibly be. “But I know a few?”

“That’s so fucking cool! I’d say you should introduce me but,” Bucky’s voice drops to a whisper, “then they’d have to kill me.”

“I can’t allow that to happen, Buck, sorry,” he laughs. In truth, the likelihood that Bucky will end up encountering at least Natasha is pretty high. She’s probably already run all kinds of background checks on him since Monday morning instead of leaving Steve to try and have something of a normal friendship. But since she hasn’t come to him with any concerns, he’d probably passed them with flying colors. 

“Well.” Bucky drops the last bit of shredded chicken into the bowl and shrugs, heading over to the sink again. “It’s still interesting. I used to want to go into the Navy, like my dad but….” he trails off, pursing his lips. “I decided I’d be better off going to school instead.”

“What changed your mind?” Steve moves to wash the grease from his hands when Bucky finishes at the sink.

“Look, don’t get offended but. The US Military seems to creates more terrorism than it fights against. And we aren’t defending democracy, we’re destroying it. Destabilizing poorer, weaker countries so that we can drain their natural resources and benefit from their sweatshop labor because nothing is ever good enough, we have to have _more_. You know, most landmine victims are fucking kids? Yeah. War isn’t glory, it’s barbarity. General citizens don’t think about that because we have the privilege of living in a country that isn’t occupied by foreign forces who kill and rape and torture because they can. There’s a lot of people who aren’t that lucky. So no, I decided I didn’t want to contribute to that. Pissed my dad off when I told him.” Bucky’s jaw is set when he looks over at Steve, like he’s expecting an argument. 

“You’re right,” Steve says, bracing his hands on the counter. “When I was overseas, um.” He’s not exactly sure what he can say without explicitly telling Bucky that the wars they’re talking about are worlds apart. “It was awful. You cannot truly understand unless you’ve been in it, just how bad it is. And once you sign your name on that contract, there’s no getting out of it until the job is done. You try to do the most good you can- or at least I did- while at the same time there are others in your unit who take sick pleasure in suffering and take it out on the innocent civilians. It’s good that you didn’t enlist.” He looks over at Estelle, content in the swing, “Look at what you would have missed out on.”

Since he’s been defrosted, he’s been on the edge about whether or not he should keep working with SHIELD for exactly the reasons that Bucky has listed. While the missions he’s sent on aren’t exactly the same as that of stationed troops, he’s still uneasy with it. Too much information missing, not sure who or what he’s really fighting for. He’d chalked it up to the difference in Army and intelligence but it’s not enough, not really. 

“Look what I would have missed,” Bucky echoes, smiling slightly. “How long were you in for?”

“Two years.” He turns away, opening the pantry door and taking down enchilada sauce, green chiles, and tortillas. “Can you grab the shredded cheese from the fridge? It’s in the door.” He doesn’t want to think about those years on the front, about watching his friends die, about the prisoners they liberated from Hydra facilities. Let alone talk about it. 

They keep up small talk while they assemble the rest of the enchiladas and while they bake, Bucky sits and feeds Estelle on the couch. Steve is flicking through the movie queue that he’s been adding to, not really caring what they watch. “Any preferences?”

“Oh, how about The Great Gatsby?” Bucky points at the screen. “I haven’t watched it yet.”

“Sure,” he clicks into the film, hitting play. They only get through the first scene before the timer on the oven is going off though, so he has to pause to bring the food into the living room before they can continue. Bucky lays the baby on the couch so he has his hands free to eat, one leg up on the cushion to block her from falling off even though she can’t roll over yet. Steve isn’t terribly impressed by the film- aside from the costume design inaccuracies, he’s not crazy about the glamor of it all, well aware there were people living in that kind of opulence when so many others were starving and dying. But if he disconnects from it, it’s a gorgeous film to watch, all vibrant colors and heart wrenching music. 

“That’s my middle name,” Bucky mumbles as they introduce Daisy Buchanan. “Not Daisy. ‘S where my nickname came from. James Buchanan… Bucky,” he shrugs, yawning. “I dunno. Found it funny when I had to read the book in school.” He seems to get progressively drowsier as the film progresses, stretching out across the cushions.

Steve is holding Estelle, paying more attention to her than he is to the end of the movie. She’s wide awake, blinking up at him. “I think your daddy’s asleep,” he whispers to her, glancing over at Bucky. Dark lashes rest like a shadow against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted as he snores- nothing like the freight train noises Steve had gotten used to in the war, Bucky’s snores are soft, almost whistling. He’s got one elbow folded underneath his head and his other hand curled in a loose fist, thumb pressed against his mouth like a ghost of a childhood habit that he’s quit. It’s probably inappropriate for Steve to just let him sleep like that without even at least trying to wake him even though disturbing him is the last thing he wants to do. “Bucky,” he says softly, nudging his leg. “Hey, Buck.”

Nothing. He doesn’t so much as stir. And well. Steve just doesn’t have the heart, not when he’s watched Bucky get progressively more exhausted as the week has gone on. He turns off the television and gets to his feet, heading for the hall closet to grab a blanket. Blankets are something he’s become a little bit obsessed with, at first in awe over how soft they can be now when he grew up under ratty quilts made from flour sacks and then the army issued itchy wool. He has an entire closet full of them, all kinds, from fleece throws to downy comforters to knitted afghans to a variety of quilts, both new and antique. His favorite one is the quilt made from a bunch of different sweaters, backed in soft flannel. He takes it down from the shelf and carries it back into the living room, spreading it carefully over the sleeping man. Then he turns off all the lights except for a lamp and heads down the hall. He leaves Estelle in the center of his bed only as long as it takes to move the bassinet and some spare diapers and clothes to his room. 

Estelle doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of sleepiness, so he doesn’t move her to the bassinet, instead stretching out on the mattress on his side so he can talk to her. “Hey, angel. You gotta be nicer to your dad. He needs his rest. It’s okay, though. I don’t mind spending extra time with either of you.” He blows a soft air-raspberry and laughs as her eyes widen a little bit at the noise, locked on his face. “God, look at you.” It’s a quiet, aching kind of reverence that clogs his throat up as he studies her studying him. There’s not a single thing about her that isn’t amazing, so much to be in awe over. Every day she’s more alert, more interested in the world around her. And he might never get to experience this with his own child, so he’s going to cherish every minute of wonder he gets to have through her. 

As long as Bucky lets him stay in their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tidbits from my brain on this chapter that i would like to share today:
> 
> if ur on tiktok you've probably seen the White People Taco Night video and i'll be honest the entire time i was writing them cooking that was the only thing going through my head 
> 
> also i have actually never seen or read the great gatsby so thats why i kind of didn't add any details to that bc i didn't wanna get them wrong and when i was writing that scene it was one am and i wasnt about to go track down a copy to watch it in the middle of the night however i do love the young and beautiful scene i have seen that on my timeline on twitter Numerous times. 
> 
> the sweater quilt that steve covers bucky with is based on a quilt that my mom made for me that i sleep under every night its the best warmest thing ever and i love it very much and i think steve deserves to have that in his life too. 
> 
> i was looking through videos of my baby brother from last summer when he was only a few weeks old and i just???? babies are so amazing i love them so much


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> steve singing rocket man is something that can be so personal

Bucky wakes up in increments, pulling the soft material closer to his face and stretching his legs out. Eyes still closed as he breathes in the smell of breakfast cooking, lulled in his half asleep state by the soft singing in the distance. It’s nice, feeling this rested.

But it’s not his morning.

Mornings for him are being woken by screaming and he’s certainly never this comfortable. He sits bolt upright with a gasp, looking around. Right. Steve’s apartment. Only instead of the dusky evening light, the room is now filled with sunlight streaming through the windows and when Bucky checks his phone, it reads **8:43am**. What the fuck. He tosses the blanket aside and stands, grimacing as his joints crack. 

He finds Steve in the kitchen, sitting at the island, feeding Estelle. There’s steaming plates of waffles, eggs, and bacon laid out across the countertop, but the man’s attention is solely on the baby in his arms. He’s singing quietly to her, not even noticing Bucky in the doorway. “I’m not the man they think I am at home… oh no no no. I’m a rocket man. Rocket man, burning out his fuse up here alone.”

Bucky crosses his arms, smiling in spite of himself, not wanting to break the spell. Steve actually has a really nice singing voice, something soft about it in contrast with how huge and intimidating the guy really is. He licks his lips stepping further into the room. “You should have woken me up.”

“I tried,” Steve jumps a little, looking up at him, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “You didn’t even stir. Figured you needed the sleep.” He glances down at Estelle, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “I had a talk with her, told her to go a little easier on you so you aren’t dead on your feet all the time.”

God! Fuck! How in the goddamn _hell_ has Bucky somehow stumbled across the most perfect man to walk the face of the earth! He bites back the urge to melt into a fucking puddle and takes a deep breath. They are friends and nothing more. Bucky can just appreciate Steve’s perfectness quietly, with the other man none the wiser. When he looks down at his feet, he grimaces at the state of his clothes, work slacks wrinkled from sleeping in them. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Steve smiles at him. “Hey, I put an extra toothbrush on the counter in the bathroom- it’s the first door on your right down the hall. Why don’t you freshen up and then come back and have breakfast? I made waffles!” He’s so earnest, wide, bright eyes meeting Bucky’s. 

“I saw,” he can’t help but return the smile. “I’ll be right back.” He turns on his heel and heads down the hall. As soon as the bathroom door is shut behind him, he sinks to the floor, burying his face in his hands. He’s literally only known Steve a week and a half and this is the state he’s in. There’s no explanation for it because it isn’t lust, not really, even though Steve is hot as fuck and quite frankly exactly Bucky’s type. It’s the little bloom of warmth in his chest that burns a little brighter every time he sees him, the flutter of his heart and catch of his breath. Oh god. 

He has a terrible, awful, high school level ridiculous _crush_.

This cannot continue. He drags himself to his feet and moves to stand in front of the gigantic mirror. “Pull yourself together,” he hisses at his reflection and grabs the toothbrush. If he takes his emotions out by aggressively scrubbing his teeth, well. At least they’re clean. He pisses and washes his hands and does his best to smooth out his hair with his fingers but it doesn’t want to do anything but stick out in every direction so he gives up and heads back to the kitchen. 

Steve has evidently finished feeding and burping Estelle because he’s got her settled in the crook of his arm while he shovels food into his mouth. All of his foods are separated on his plate so that nothing touches its neighbor, somehow making it work despite the frankly ridiculously large portions. “Hey, dish yourself up as much as you want,” he says as Bucky sits down at the place already set out for him. “Um, that’s mango-orange orange juice in the pitcher but there’s chocolate milk and apple juice in the fridge and coffee in the pot if you want something else.”

“This is fine,” Bucky reaches for the juice pitcher- not the battered Tupperware kind that he had grown up making Kool Aid in, but the fancy glass kind- and fills his cup to the brim. Bucky grabs a waffle, stacks a bunch of bacon and two fried eggs on it and tops it with another waffle, snickering at Steve’s slightly horrified look. “Never had a breakfast sandwich? You should try it.” They both look at Steve’s carefully separated portions and Bucky smiles at him. “It’s cool. Lotta people don’t like their food to touch.” 

“My mom hated it.” Steve shrugs and stabs his waffle with his fork. “Didn’t have enough food for me to be picky like that but I just. Don’t like it.”

“There’s a word for it, I read an article but for the life of me I can’t remember what it’s called.” Bucky takes a massive bite out of his waffle sandwich. It’s delicious, of course, because on top of everything else, Steve is a phenomenal cook. “I _may_ be dumb.”

“You’re an engineer, I think it’s scientifically impossible for you to be dumb.”

“No, I’m definitely dumb, I promise.” He drinks half his glass of juice and holds his hands out. “What smart parent lets a complete stranger into their home and then accepts the offer of free babysitting? I am only smart when it comes to machines. Let me take her, you’ve gotta be tired after last night.” He’d gotten lucky, because from everything he’s seen, Steve is just genuinely a _good guy_ , but it could have gone so, so wrong and he hadn’t even stopped to think about it until now.

“I’d never get tired of her. We get along.” But Steve leans over, passing Estelle into Bucky’s waiting arms.

“I don’t think I’m any good at this, Steve.” He smooths his hand over Estelle’s head, soft curls under his fingers. The plain truth is he’s too trusting and he put his daughter in danger because of that. He’s trying his best and it just isn’t good enough. Steve isn’t even a fucking parent and he makes it look so effortless, god. Bucky had looked like death warmed over after just one night getting up to feed her every two hours and Steve is sitting here as bright eyed as usual. “I don’t even know your last name,” he says weakly, bringing his glass of juice to his mouth.

Steve takes a breath and swallows hard, looking at Estelle and then down at his plate. “Rogers. My name is Steve Rogers.”

Bucky spits out his juice.

“Sorry,” Steve squirms, his shoulders hunched.

Honestly, Bucky’s more shocked that he hadn’t recognized him than he is over the fact that Steve is… he’s. “You’re… like.” _The_ Steve Rogers. Of course he is. Messy shock of blond hair, cornflower blue eyes, and his muscles have muscles. Granted, Bucky doesn’t keep up much with superhero pop culture and Captain America isn’t in the media a lot, but still. He should have recognized him from his history textbook alone. “Oh, I _am_ dumb. Steve! Why didn’t you say so from the beginning?”

Steve doesn’t look at him. “I didn’t want you to treat me any differently. Everyone does. You’re… um. You’re actually the first person I’ve met the entire time I’ve been defrosted that genuinely just. Treated me like a regular guy.”

It’s sobering, hearing those words. The little bit of Bucky screaming that he’s an idiot for developing a whopping crush on Captain fucking America gets pushed away because there’s desperate resignation in Steve’s voice and that just won’t do. He leans over, putting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I’m not gonna say I’m not a little shocked- mostly that I didn’t realize before- but Steve. You’re not a regular guy,” he smiles before Steve’s expression can shutter, “You’re a stupidly nice guy- I don’t know if you’ve noticed but that’s pretty rare to come by these days. You’re weirdly good with babies and an astonishingly good cook. And I barely know you. But we’re friends, right?”

“You mean you’d still want to be friends?”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

“Your _parents_ ,” Steve says miserably. He’s flicking his pinky finger against his thumb over and over again, his entire body held stiff with tension. “The battle… I-”

Oh. _Oh_. Bucky shifts, taking a breath. “You know I don’t blame you- or anyone involved- for that, right? You did the best you could and that doesn’t mean everyone got saved but. If you hadn’t been there, a whole bunch more would have died.” He lifts Estelle so she’s resting against his chest, her head on his shoulder. “Sure, there have been times when I’ve been angry. Y’know, when I’ve asked _why me? Why my family and not someone else’s?_ But that’s not on _you_. Aliens dropped that building on my parents, Steve, not you.”

Steve is quiet, poking at the food on his plate, but some of the tension has drained out of him. “Thanks. For, uh. Not freaking out.”

“Anytime.”

***

Knowing Steve is Captain America really doesn’t change anything other than putting Bucky at ease about leaving Estelle with him during the week. Sure, he still doesn’t know him that well, but his gut feeling that Steve is a good guy is confirmed. He still seems lonely and it makes sense, knowing his history, why he would be. At least once a week he invites Bucky to stay for dinner when he gets there to pick up Estelle and he always accepts but makes sure not to fall asleep there again. It does get easier, being a dad, as Estelle gets older. She doesn’t sleep through the night, but she does start to sleep _better_ and she doesn’t cry like she did that first awful week. 

The first month has passed simultaneously dragging and all at once and before he knows it, he finds himself sitting in the pediatricians office for Estelle’s one month checkup. He signs in at the desk and settles into one of the uncomfortable vinyl chairs to wait. The waiting room is separated into sick and well areas so he takes the farthest seat possible from the sick area where a couple of kids are coughing their lungs up. The last thing he needs is for either of them to catch the flu. It’s a cold day and he took off work for this appointment so he’s warm in a thick hoodie with the Captain America shield across the front. He’d dressed Estelle in the little pink Cap pajamas that Steve had ordered- it makes sense now why he’d chosen those. And really, he’s just digging himself deeper with this crush problem, but he angles her in the crook of his arm so that he can snap a selfie of them to send to Steve.

**To Not My BF Steve: representing our favorite superhero in this doctors office today :D baby doesn’t know she’s getting a shot tho :(**

He looks up from the phone when someone taps his knee, smiling at the toddler that’s peering at him. The kid has a fistful of crayons in one hand and a crumpled sheet of paper in the other. “Hi, kiddo.”

“I drawded you,” she holds the paper out, licking her upper lip.

“Really?” He takes the picture, slipping his phone in his pocket so he can smooth out the wrinkles in the paper. It’s messy, definitely done in a child’s hand, but there’s talent there. It’s more than stick figures, it’s clearly a dark haired man holding a baby. “Wow, this is really good! Is it for me to keep?”

She nods and sticks her thumb in her mouth, talking around it. “I like your baby.”

“Thank you,” he shifts forward, leaning down so she can have a better look at Estelle. She coos softly, her eyes turning toward the child. “Look, she’s saying hi.”

The girl giggles and makes faces at Estelle for a few minutes before running off back to the toys. When Bucky goes to slip the drawing into his pocket, he pulls out his phone again, opening the notification that Steve responded.

**From Not My BF Steve: You guys are my favorites too! Poor Estelle :( give her hugs from me!!**

Of course Bucky’s brain sticks on the fact that Steve included him in his _favorites_ and his heart melts in his chest like fucking butter. He licks his lips, typing out a response.

**To Not My BF Steve: hug her yourself i have the day off. late lunch? i know a diner w the best cheese fries you will ever have**

**From Not My BF Steve: I can’t, I’m at SHIELD :(( I think Natasha is dragging me to something at the Avengers Tower tonight too, she said something about Tony having a dinner party thing. Friendsgiving, which I don’t understand. It’s only the second week of the month?**

Bucky sighs. Well, it was worth a shot.

**To Not My BF Steve: it’s ok some other time maybe?**

**From Not My BF Steve: You should come to the dinner! It’s not formal it’s just for the team and friends.**

**To Not My BF Steve: i can’t meet the avengers steve!!!!!!!!!!!!! plus friendsgiving is a potluck thing and even if i had time to cook i don’t know how!!!!!!**

**From Not My BF Steve: Please :(( I never have anyone to talk to at these things because Natasha always ends up with Clint. Plus, it’ll give me a chance to introduce you to Pepper!! No more shitty law office job, Bucky!! And the whole thing is catered you don’t have to bring anything.**

He groans, knocking his head back against the wall. Sure, it’s not as if he doesn’t want to get a better job and quite frankly Stark Industries had been one of his dream jobs, but he’d applied for their internship program when he was in school and never heard anything back. He doesn’t want a job just because Steve is Captain America and can pull strings for him, he wants it because he’s truly good enough at what he does to deserve it. Also, Avengers. 

But Steve _wants_ him there. Like a date? A friend date? 

**To Not My BF Steve: how do u know she won’t hate me huh?**

**From Not My BF Steve: She won’t, I promise. Please come? Avengers Tower, 6pm.**

God. He’s so fucking whipped. He’s typing out his response when a nurse comes out into the waiting area with a tablet, calling Estelle’s name. “Shit,” he gets to his feet, grabbing the diaper bag from the floor. It’s not the old backpack from college that he had been using in the beginning, but a brand new pink and grey bag that Steve had sent home with him one day. He’s kind of given up on trying to curb Steve’s buying habit. It seems like every day there’s more and more stuff for Estelle in Steve’s apartment. He types one handed as he follows the nurse down the hallway.

**To Not My BF Steve: ok ok fine i’ll b there.. drs taking us back to examining room now talk later**

The nurse opens the door to an examining room wallpapered with ocean animals. He sits in yet another uncomfortable chair, as the nurse asks to take Estelle. He hands her over, gripping the arm rests as he watches her weigh and measure the baby. “Is she- I mean, she seems so small.”

“She’s a little under average size for her age, but in her chart it says she was five pounds at birth so I wouldn’t be concerned.” The nurse smiles reassuringly. “She’ll catch up soon enough, don’t you worry.” Finally she hands Estelle back to him. “The doctor will be with you soon.”

There’s an immature part of him that wants to revert back to his childhood self- to fill the wait by drawing on the paper bed sheet, by stealing gloves and blowing them up like balloons, but he refrains. He may not _feel_ like an adult but he is one. He just needs to wait until Estelle is a little older and then he can do those things under the guise of entertaining her.

It seems like forever before the doctor comes in but according to the clock on the wall it’s only ten minutes. She’s maybe mid thirties, dark hair pulled up in a bun and dressed in practical clothing. She washes her hands in the sink and then sits down on the wheely stool to shake his hand. “Mr. Barnes, I’m Dr Petrova. I’m gonna go through some basic questions and then I’ll have you undress Estelle so I can conduct a physical exam. How long does she usually sleep before waking to be fed?”

“I’d say two or three hours probably?” He shifts in the chair.

“Good, good. And what position does she sleep in?”

“Uh.” He’s well aware of what they’d told him in the hospital, what the internet says. Don’t sleep in the same bed as your child. Well, all of those people were probably prepared to have a baby in the first place and had a whole nursery decked out before they ever even came home from the hospital. “I’m a back sleeper so I have her on her stomach on my chest. They said at the hospital that skin to skin contact is good.”

“And it is.” Dr. Petrova purses her lips and shifts on her stool. “However, falling asleep in that position is… unadvised. I understand you’re a first time parent and there is a learning curve. Sleeping in the same bed as your infant increases the risk of SIDS, accidental strangulation or suffocation. You could roll over on top of her in your sleep, completely unaware of it. At the end of the day, it’s still up to you as the parent, but you should be aware of the risks. We can provide you with some information packets that go more in depth than what they would have provided you with at the hospital?” She waits for his nod before continuing. “Now, it seems she’s been getting a lot of tummy time while asleep but she should also be spending some time on her stomach while awake. While she’s on her stomach, she should be able to hold her head up briefly.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to do that.” God, he really is just about the worst parent in the world, huh? “I mean, she’s with a sitter most of the day during the weekdays so he might.... She does hold her head up a little bit though!” He’d noticed that over the past week, that she seems to have more control over her head and limbs. 

The rest of the questions are pretty straightforward, easy to answer. He carefully removes Estelle’s outfit, laying it on the top of the diaper bag as the doctor carries her over to the exam table. She warms the stethoscope between her hands before listening to Estelle’s heart and lungs, checks her ears, eyes, and mouth. When she tests her reflexes, she explains what she’s doing as she goes along and at the end she checks for diaper rash. “Uh oh, looks like we have a wet diaper. If you’ll hand me a fresh one, I’ll change it out for you while I have her here.” He does and when she’s done, she hands Estelle back to Bucky and washes her hands again. “You have a very healthy and content little girl, Mr. Barnes. And we’re having a Hep-B vaccine today, correct?”

“Yes.” 

“Very good. The nurse will be with you in a moment to administer the immunization and then you’ll be on your way. When you head out, make sure to schedule your two month well visit with the receptionist.” She shakes his hand once more before heading out into the hallway.

Bucky cradles Estelle close to him, pulling a soft blanket from the diaper bag to wrap her in. He’s not sure where the shot is going to be given but he doesn’t want to dress her only to have to strip her again. The drowsy quiet isn’t likely to last once they vaccinate her- he barely remembers his own vaccinations but he knows he wasn’t a happy camper at all afterwards. Google said she’s likely to be fussy and feverish and he’s got himself roped into attending friendsgiving at Avengers tower. Maybe Steve will be able to work his baby magic on her. 

When the nurse comes in, she’s carrying a little plastic tray and a sheaf of papers; the latter gets handed to him and the former set on the exam table. “These are for you to take home. Information on SIDS, what milestones you can expect from this next month, some resources for new parents.” She washes her hands and then pulls on a pair of gloves. “Alright, I’m gonna have you keep holding her, Dad. We’re gonna inject the outside of her right thigh so how you’ve got her now is just fine, but if you could hold the ankle of that leg with your free hand, I would appreciate it.” 

He bites his lower lip as he watches her prep the syringe. Of course, it’s necessary, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea of putting his baby through that pain at all. And they’re only doing _one_ shot today. Next month they have to do _five_. When she approaches, he sucks in a deep breath and takes Estelle’s ankle in his hand. The nurse swipes an alcohol pad over the injection site and quickly depresses the syringe into Estelle’s thigh. It’s over almost before it starts but Estelle still lets out an ear splitting wail as the nurse removes the shot and bandages it with a folded gauze pad under a Band-Aid. 

“Oh, my baby,” he murmurs, curling around Estelle, stroking his hand over her head. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I love you, I’m sorry.”

“Take as long as you need before heading out,” The nurse tells him, talking loud to be heard over her screaming. “If you think she’ll take it, try offering her a bottle. We’ll see you next month.”

He fumbles his way through making up a bottle after she leaves, wiggling the nipple against Estelle’s tongue until she latches on, sucking greedily. Blessed silence follows and he sighs, resting his head back against the wall. That was decidedly _awful_ and this is only the beginning of a long series of vaccines. He swallows back tears when he looks at the Dora the Explorer Band-Aid, so big against her tiny leg. “I didn’t wanna hurt you,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “But we gotta keep you safe.”

***

Bucky stares up at Avengers Tower, absolutely positive this is the last place he needs to be. Estelle is asleep in his arms, only after screaming for half the commute from Brooklyn to Manhattan, which had probably made the rest of the train passengers consider throwing them off. But they made it. And he feels like he’s going to throw up. He fumbles for his phone, dialing Steve.

“Hello?”

“Steve, I don’t think I should be here.” He stares at the lobby doors, watches the office workers filing out.

“Are you here?!” Steve’s tone pitches up, a little excited. “Did they let you come up or do I need to come down to the lobby to get you?”

“I’m standing outside trying to calm my nerves, I haven’t made it as far as the lobby yet.”

“Don’t leave! I’ll come down to you. It’s gonna be fine!” There’s a rustling noise at the other end of the line and the ding of an elevator. “Come into the lobby, meet me by elevator three.”

He sighs and starts walking toward the door. No getting out of it now. “I don’t need to sign in or anything?”

“Nope! Jarvis will record your presence in the building. You’ll see.” The line goes dead.

Bucky pulls the door open, stepping into the pristine building. A woman behind one of the desks looks up at him and asks if she can help him. “Uh, yeah, where’s elevator three?” She points to an elevator bay at the other end of the room and he thanks her, walking over to it just as the doors slide open to reveal Steve’s smiling face. “Hey,” he steps into the lift.

“Hey. How did the doctor’s appointment go?” Steve doesn’t bother to press any of the buttons but the doors still shut and it starts moving upward anyway.

“Oh, aside from the fact that I’m risking her life every night by sleeping with her in the same bed as me and the way the vaccine made her scream almost the entire train ride here, it was fine.” Bucky knocks his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He’s _tired_. “By the way, if she wakes up and starts crying again during this party thing, you get to work your baby magic to calm her down since it was your idea for me to come.”

“I’d rather spend time with her than most of the people here anyway,” Steve says softly. As the elevator slows to a halt, the looseness of his posture fades away, replaced by stiff shoulders and a closed off expression. “It… thank you for coming, Buck. It means a lot. Also, Pepper had an emergency and she couldn’t make it tonight, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean. After all you’ve done for me, being here is the least I could do.” He’s not quite sure what’s brought the change in Steve’s demeanor but as the doors slide open to the chaos, he imagines it has a lot to do with the people Steve calls teammates.

“No, listen, I’m _telling_ you,” Tony Stark is saying, poking one finger toward a short guy with curly greying hair. “If we do that, the neurolink would never work. I’m the genius here! Listen to me!”

“I have seven PhDs, Tony. How many do you have?”

“That’s Bruce Banner,” Steve says, low enough that only Bucky hears him. “When we’re in battle he’s the Hulk. They’ve been arguing about some idea for an advanced prosthetics program all afternoon.”

“No kidding,” Bucky looks around the room, noting the rest of the Avengers- minus Thor- and a bunch of other people whose names he could not place, but some of them look slightly familiar. The room is kind of split, multiple levels but a big open area in the center of the floor, strategically placed low tables and couches. There’s what appears to be a full bar and a bunch of modern art. “Jesus, this place is kind of….”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh look! The capsicle has returned and he’s acquired a ball and chain.” Stark looks up from a hologram that he’s brought up in front of him and Banner- a bunch of equations from what Bucky can see. “Don’t be shy, come in. Help yourself to some food, have some drinks. God knows even my top shelf liquor doesn’t do anything for Cap.”

Bucky frowns at his comment, but Steve doesn’t react so he doesn’t say anything. He does follow Steve further into the room, to sit at one of the couches. He sets the diaper bag at his feet and carefully maneuvers Estelle to his right arm because, lightweight as she may be, his left arm is starting to go numb from holding her on that side for so long. 

The Black Widow saunters over to them, perching on the arm of their couch. “Hello, James.”

“How do you know my first name?” He could see her knowing his nickname, if Steve has mentioned him at all, but Steve doesn’t call him James. No one calls him James. 

“It’s my job to know things,” she smirks at him, “Especially about people in my friends’ lives.”

“Nat, lay off him.” Steve snaps, carefully arranging food on a plate. His voice is slightly softer when he addresses Bucky. “Tell me what you want and I’ll dish it up for you since your hands are full.”

The food does smell fantastic and he hasn’t eaten since before noon so he instructs Steve through piling a plate high with mashed potatoes, stuffing, buttered corn, and turkey and has him dump gravy over the entire plate. He winces his way through laying Estelle down on the couch so he has his hands free to eat but all the crying must have worn her out because she barely stirs, thank god. Steve’s mask breaks a little when he cringes away from the way Bucky mixes everything on his plate up. “It’s good!” He laughs.

“I think I’ll pass.” Steve carefully works his way through his plate, careful bites never mixing two different types of food while Bucky practically inhales his Thanksgiving flavored soup like the goblin he is. It all ends up in the same place anyway. 

He’s just finished eating when Stark approaches, bringing his hologram with him. “Barnes! Cap told us you’re an engineer. What do you make of this?” He holds a phone-like device and a stylus out and Bucky takes it cautiously after glancing at Steve. 

It brings the hologram closer, puts the numbers and letters into a perspective where he can make sense of them. “How do I-”

“Oh, it’s like a touch screen. Jarvis recognizes anywhere you touch.”

“Cool. Who’s Jarvis?”

“I am the resident AI, Mr. Barnes,” a disembodied voice announces from somewhere overhead.

“This is so fucking cool,” Bucky mumbles, looking back to the equations. There’s a mockup of what appears to be a mechanical prosthetic at one side, notes scrawled in two different handwriting styles, different ideas for establishing a neurolink that would allow the prosthetic to function and feel to the wearer as an actual limb. He glances up at Stark. “I don’t know much about neurological science but uh. Your design seems to be based on the Iron Man tech right now, which is too rigid to allow for natural movement if you do work out the link. Your paneling design is way too large.”

“Uh huh,” Stark nods, folding his arms across his chest. “So what would you suggest to remedy that, Bucko?”

Bucky bites his lip and lifts the stylus. There’s a section to the side of the hologram with brush and color options so he fills the entire prosthetic in black and then uses gold to carefully redraw the paneling. Smaller, interlocked sections that allow for a rippling, wider range of motion than the original design. He has no doubt that Stark already knew the design needed work and exactly how to fix the problem, but hey. Since he’s _asking_. When he finishes, he hands the hologram device and stylus back to him. “I mean, it definitely still needs refining but. Yeah, I’d go with something like that.”

“I see.” Stark taps the device and the hologram disappears as he flops onto the couch, well away from Estelle. “So how long have you known our dear Capsicle?”

“A month.”

“A month! Captain Tightass, you’ve been hiding your boytoy from us for a _month_!” 

“We’re not-” Bucky glances over, the words dying on his lips at the way Steve is clenching and unclenching his jaw, how he’s flicking his pinky fingers against his thumbs and twisting his wrists back and forth. And he gets it, suddenly. He _gets it_. He’d only taken one class on psychopathology, but he’d also grown up with an occupational therapist for a mother and it was enough. “Actually,” he turns his attention back to Stark, angling his body so that he can’t see Steve past him. “I think I heard, um, someone calling your name over there.” He nods toward the bar.

“What? I didn’t hear-”

“It was me,” Natasha appears by the couch, grabbing Stark’s upper arm and pulling him to his feet. Her gaze flicks to Steve and then back to Bucky and she gives him a nearly imperceptible nod. “I need your help.”

“ _You_ need _my_ help?” Stark asks her incredulously as she drags him away.

As soon as they’re out of eyesight, Bucky turns his attention back to Steve, scoots down the couch to sit next to him. “Steve,” he says quietly, telegraphing his movements as he slowly puts his hand on Steve’s forearm. “Hey, so it’s almost time to feed Estelle. Is there anywhere we could go that’s a little quieter so hopefully if she wakes up it’ll be easy to get her back to sleep.”

Steve’s jaw works as he unclenches his teeth and looks down at the baby. “Um. There, there’s a kitchen a coup-couple floors down.” 

“Great,” Bucky scoops up Estelle and deposits her in Steve’s arms- something for him to focus on. “Why don’t you show me?”

Steve gets unsteadily to his feet and waits as Bucky grabs the diaper bag before heading back toward the elevators. The doors open for them before they get there and as soon as they’re inside, Steve backs himself into one of the corners, his shoulders hunching as he curls himself around the baby. 

When the elevator doesn’t start moving, Bucky glances up at the ceiling. “Hey, Jarvis, if you’re listening, can you take us to the residential kitchen?”

“Of course, Mr. Barnes.” 

The elevator lurches as it starts moving down. It’s only two floors and the doors open into a dimly lit floor. There’s a living room area to one side and a kitchen to the other and a dark hallway. Bucky touches Steve’s shoulder lightly, waiting for him to step out of the elevator before he follows. Steve sits at one of the barstools in the kitchen and Bucky quietly sets about preparing a bottle for Estelle. She’s starting to stir, whimpering in Steve’s arms.

It’s a few minutes before Steve speaks, but when he does, his voice is tired. “I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t want you to know. I know I’m weird… I- I usually have it under control.”

“You’re not _weird_ , Steve,” Bucky says quietly, screwing the top of the bottle tight and shaking it as he turns around to face him. “Listen. I’m no psychologist but,” he hands the bottle to Steve, “if I had to hazard a guess? I think you’re autistic.”

Steve glances up at him, troubled eyes so blue even in the low light. “What’s that?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to explain it very well but uh.” How can he put this without sounding like he’s regurgitating a textbook. “So it’s a condition, but it’s on a spectrum right? It’s not just one thing for every person on the spectrum, it could be a completely different experience to you from how someone else might experience it. Maybe, um, maybe John Doe is nonverbal and needs to constantly be touching his surroundings to process the different sensations and textures of the world. Maybe you were an aggressive child with a high pain tolerance but a low tolerance for certain textures. Maybe you struggle making friends because it’s not always easy to read social cues, all these invisible lines that other people seem to see and avoid easily but it’s hard, but when they hand you a battle plan suddenly you’re a tactical genius, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispers, eyes wide. “I mean, I was sick all the time and my mom kept me home from school because of that but also because… I couldn’t control it back then the way I can now. The… the-” he props the bottle against his chest so he has a hand free to demonstrate the flicking motion. “It was worse. My mom made me learn to control it or they would have sent me to a nuthouse for sure. She said when I was little I had this set of jacks and I would just walk on them barefoot and not even seem to notice the pain. And then later, getting in all the fights… it helped me. But. I mean, the serum was supposed to cure me of everything-”

“It’s not a disease, Steve. You don’t need to be cured, it’s just part of what makes you who you are.” He rounds the island to sit on the stool next to him. “Like I said, I’m not a psychologist so I can’t say for positive you’re autistic. But I think it would be good if you considered making an appointment with one to get evaluated.”

“Sorry, I know I should have told you from the beginning. Just… you’re easy to be around and I kind of forgot how hard it is sometimes to be around… everyone else. They all want me to be something I’m not. It’s not so hard really, anymore. Natasha is easy. I think because she’s also used to life wearing a mask of someone she isn’t. But some people… _Tony_ , he just.”

“Yeah, he seems like a dick,” Bucky says bluntly. “He never once even called you by your name.”

“He’s a dick who’s going to give you a job in your field.”

“ _What?_ ”

“That’s why he was asking you about the prosthetic thing. Like an interview, kind of. Um, when I said I had invited you he started asking about you so I told him that you’re a secretary but you have a degree in engineering so he said he was going to talk to you about it and get you set up.” Steve looks down at Estelle, traces his knuckle over her cheek, misery in the downturn of his mouth. “Do you want me to stop watching her?”

“Why in the world would I want that?”

“Stark Industries has onsite free childcare. And now that you know about me… she’s probably better off with professionals.”

“Steve.” Bucky nudges him gently. “The very first day I met you when I was freaking out because I didn’t know how to take care of her, you told me. You told me the most important thing was that I love her. These people who run the daycare- I’m sure they’re great at their job but they no doubt have their hands full of everyone else’s children. They wouldn’t have time to love her. I’ve seen you with her, I know you do. So as long as you want her, I’d be honored to have you watch her. Besides, you are freakishly good with babies, you basically are a professional.”

That gets Steve to smile, ducking his chin a little. “My mom was a midwife. Since I didn’t have school and it was just the two of us, she always had to drag me along to her appointments. Back then, you know, we had condoms but they weren’t like today and there weren't any pills or anything so. A lot of families had a baby a year. I’d always be in charge of babysitting the little kids, keeping them out of the way of the adults. I was good at that.”

“Yeah, you are.”

They’re quiet as Estelle finishes her bottle and as Steve is burping her, the elevator doors open and Natasha walks out, holding a sheet of paper in one hand. “Hello, boys.” She puts the paper on the countertop in front of Bucky. “This is for you, from Tony. I assume neither one of you will be rejoining us upstairs. When you both get ready to leave there’s a driver waiting for you in the garage to take you both back to Brooklyn- don’t worry, the car has an infant seat for the baby.”

“But my bike-” Steve starts to protest.

“I’ll bring your bike to you tomorrow.” Nat assures him, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Go home, Steve. Get some rest. It was nice meeting you, James. I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again if you intend to stick around.”

“Right, you too.” Bucky nods, smiling at her. They barely talked and yet somehow they’ve come to an understanding without saying anything. “You probably already know where to find me.”

She half smiles and heads back to the elevator and Bucky turns his attention back to the paper. The handwriting is messy but still legible, reading **hey, you should quit your office job. you didn’t go through four years of college to end up a secretary. stop by the tower friday and we’ll get you set up with the R &D team here and then you can start monday. tony.**

“Huh.” He hands the note to Steve. “I guess you were right.”

Steve reads the note and smiles, “Yeah, it’ll be good for you. He’s not a bad guy, just. Me and him don’t get along.” He passes the note back to Bucky and stands. “Let's go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so. the idea to have steve be autistic didn't actually occur to me until the beginning of this chapter which means that the previous two chapters were not written with that aspect of his character in mind. however i think it still works out because quite frequently, adults can be unaware that they're autistic. especially for steve, coming from a time when they were only first starting to recognize what autism is, it makes sense that he would be unaware. i think i was already unknowingly giving him some traits though, such as trouble with social cues and a fixation on different sensory feedback from types of blankets but i decided i want to go more into it through this fic. that said, i am not autistic (as far as i know). i do, however, have multiple close family members who are autistic and i have sensory processing disorder which goes hand in hand with autism so for the most part i feel comfortable and confident writing steve as such. i'm conferring with a friend that is autistic when i have questions and i've read a ton of research papers and books on the subject throughout my life. steve's characterization is largely based on what i've seen with my family members who are autistic and my own experiences with sensory overload because it's easiest to write what i know. however, if you are autistic and notice inaccuracies or instances where i may have used harmful descriptions, PLEASE let me know so i can remedy that. i come from a very casually ableist family so i may accidentally use outdated terminology simply do to the fact that i have not come across anything or anyone to educate me differently on such, but if i DO use it, please know it's not on purpose and i WANT to be corrected. i chose to move forward in this fic with autistic steve because frankly i have never seen it used in fic before and i think that's sad. i also thought it would be a great way to show through the serum process that it isn't a disease that needs curing (don't fucking support autism speaks)!! in this chapter, steve experiences sensory overload and starts stimming- repetitive self-soothing movements as a way to help with his anxiety. if you think about it, everyone stims to an extent... you tap your foot, drum your fingers against surfaces, etc and most of the time you do it subconsciously. there are so many different kinds of stims and unfortunately a lot of therapy programs focus on suppressing even the harmless ones. in a lot of cases that i've seen and experienced, when sensory overload happens, sometimes all it takes is leaving the triggering environment to ease the stress, but it still leaves you drained and on edge, which is why i ended the chapter with steve not driving. also im in cosmetology school, not regular college so im not entirely sure if having bucky take a psych class that covers autism is realistic but quora said it's sometimes an undergrad class so if it isn't realistic just smile and nod and pretend like it is for the purpose of the fic, ok?
> 
> other things to note about this chapter: i don't have any kids but i do have five younger siblings so i pretty much know the drill on how checkups go and i consulted my mom before writing the doctors scene but if you have children and notice any inaccuracies as far as that goes, feel free to let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clint in this fic is not precisely mcu clint bc i hate him but i also haven't read the comics either so this is my version of clint influenced by mcu, comic panels i've seen on my twitter timeline, and other fics

It’s not that Steve is purposely ignoring Bucky’s suggestion that he see a psychologist about the autism thing. He is reading about it on the internet, medical papers and first hand accounts and it’s almost scary the way it makes certain aspects of his life kind of click into place. But he just doesn’t like therapists. When he’d first come out of the ice, SHIELD had made him meet with one, five mandatory sessions before they would release him into the world. The guy had been condescending at best, point blank rude and every awful, overwhelming feeling that Steve had been going through trying to adjust was just multiplied tenfold by everything the therapist said. And Steve is a logical person. He’s well aware that there are probably some great psychologists out there that wouldn’t even think of treating him like he’s fucking stupid but he doesn’t want to risk going through that experience again trying to find them.

He’s poured most of his attention into watching Estelle but it’s the weekend now and he’s antsy, pacing around his living room with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. Bucky’s just finished his first week working for Tony and he doesn’t really want to intrude on his free time and he doesn’t really want to roam around the city either. He flops down on the couch and groans, reaching for his phone.

**To Nat: I’m bored**

**From Nat: have u ever played laser tag**

**From Nat: im about to go to this new place with clint he’s been bugging me about it u can come with us**

Her messages come rapidfire followed by an address in Williamsburg and it’s not long before Steve finds himself meeting the two of them there- after looking up how to play. He gets waved right past the front desk into a room where Nat and Clint are both suiting up. They both look at him and start laughing.

“Dude.” Clint gasps, tightening the straps on his vest. “You are so going to lose. Why would you wear a _white_ shirt?”

“Huh?” Steve glances down at his t-shirt. “What’s wrong with white?”

“The arena is full of black lights,” Natasha grabs a vest off one of the wall hooks, holding it out to him. “You’re gonna light up like a goddamn beacon, sorry.” She gestures to her and Clint’s all black attire.

“Not if I do this,” he says, and yanks his shirt over his head, tossing it on a bench. When Clint points silently to the rule list on the wall where it plainly says _shirt and shoes must be worn at all times_ Steve rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me a couple of master assassins are going to obey the ‘both hands on phaser at all times’ and ‘no running, jumping, climbing, sitting, or lying down’ rules? Didn’t think so.” He takes the vest from Natasha and buckles it across his chest.

The teenage guy from the front desk comes into the room and gives Steve a strange look when he sees that he’s shirtless but doesn’t say anything other than, “You booked the arena for the afternoon and there’s no one else entering your game, so whatever. Just try not to damage any of the obstacles? Anyway. In free for all stealth elimination mode, you won’t have any lights on your vests. It’s pretty straight forward. Last man standing. You have ten lives. When you’re hit, your phaser is down for ten seconds and after your tenth hit you’re eliminated. Be mindful of when you shoot because the sound and light will give away your position. When you head into the arena you will have thirty seconds before the game starts to split up and hide. If you’re eliminated, come back to this room to wait for the game to end. Everyone ready?”

When he opens the door to let them into the arena, Steve takes in a breath. It’s clear why Clint wanted to come here. The arena is set up with three levels, designed like an abandoned amusement park, filled with fog and dark spare for the black lights reflecting off some of the obstacles. Steve grins. Clint and Natasha might be super spies with stealth skills way better than his but he has something they don’t.

Serum enhanced vision and hearing and a mind made for tactical planning. 

They’ll both no doubt head for the highest level where they’ll have a good view of below but Steve is a soldier and he heads for the trenches. Or, in this case, the mock Tunnel of Love. When he gets inside the lightless tunnel, he smirks. The incline was almost imperceptible from the outside but when he reaches what should have been where the short tunnel meets the wall, it doesn’t. There’s an archway and a spiral staircase. So there are hidden passages. He’s reached the top level when the buzzer sounds and speakers start playing echoing, slightly distorted carnival music. He eases out of the tunnel, hidden by a heavy velvet curtain in a fake fortune teller booth. With the shade down in the front, from the outside, it would no doubt look like a box to get cornered in. All he needs to do is keep the others from finding it and he’s got the game in the bag. 

He creeps silently across the carpeted floor, focusing on tuning out the music to hear who might be nearby instead. And there is someone breathing, maybe a few feet away. He crouches to peer out one of the peepholes and smiles. Clint is hiding behind an obstacle almost directly in front of Steve, with his back to him. He aims carefully through the peephole and switches his grip on his gun so his thumb is over the palm sensor and his hand covers the speaker , waiting until the music swells to shoot so it covers the muffled sound. 

“What the f-” Clint hisses when his phaser beeps quietly. He swings around, gaze not even lingering on Steve’s hiding place before he takes off, out of sight. 

Steve waits through the music looping again and the distant beep and muffled outrage of Clint getting tagged again. A few moments later and Natasha comes into his line of sight and he takes a shot, tagging her out. This time he silently retreats back into the tunnel as quickly as he can, taking the stairs down to the second level. The exit from the staircase lets him into another narrow tunnel running along the length of the wall. At the end, it lets out into the play floor, doorway hidden by a strategically placed fog machine that obscures the tunnel completely. He slips out, creeping around the obstacles, listening for Clint and Nat.

His gun beeps and he swings around, curse on the tip of his tongue as Nat grins at him and launches herself over the railing to the floor below. He ducks down so she can’t hit him again from below, peeking over the half wall in time to watch her tag Clint, who’s crouched inside a giant teacup. Clint swears and takes off for the stairs leading to the second level and Steve waits for him, one eye on Nat’s movements as she heads for the carousel. 

As soon as Clint is in sight, Steve tags him and follows Nat’s lead by jumping the railing rather than try to get to the stairs and out of sight before Clint’s ten seconds are up. He rolls beneath the raised wooden platform of the fake bumper cars and peers out, watching Natasha as she drops down from the crank rods. She goes to press herself back against the decorative mirror paneling but instead of a solid wall, it gives. A hidden door. She grins and slips inside.

And if Steve’s gut is right- and it usually is- that means there will be another door on the other side. He elbow crawls under the platform until he gets to the other side and quickly hides behind a ticket booth so he has a clear line of sight to the other side of the carousel and close access to the stairs but Nat won’t be able to see him. The door opens slowly, Nat peeking out and looking around. When she doesn’t see anyone, she steps fully out and Steve tags her, immediately turning on his heel and launching himself up the stairs, five at a time. 

Clint is waiting for him at the top and Steve’s gun beeps as he’s tagged. He flips his middle finger at the archer but doesn’t stop, weaving his way through the obstacles, looping around the floor until he’s sure he’s lost his tail before he steps through the fog and into the hidden tunnel. He takes the stairs down to the lower level and lays on his stomach in the mouth of the tunnel of love; hidden by fog and darkness, out of sight but still with a pretty good view of what’s going on. Clint is already down four lives and he and Nat are down two. If he stays hidden here, he can conserve his own lives while they continue to tag each other. So he settles in and waits. It seems like they’re both sticking to the upper levels from the faintness of their movements. He can’t tell who is getting tagged, but he counts eight beeps over about twenty minutes. Eventually Clint drops down, heading right for the tunnel Steve is hiding in and he isn’t expecting it when Steve tags him easily. Clint’s vest lights come on, glowing red. Tagged out. 

“Dammit!” Clint glares at him as Steve stands with a grin. He turns on his heel and heads back for the door out of the arena.

And then there were two. 

Steve takes the stairs up to the third level, freezing right before he steps out into the booth because he can hear her breathing on the other side of the curtain. Either she’s decided he won’t think to look inside the fortune teller wagon or she’s discovered the tunnel and she’s lying in wait for him. He retreats on silent feet, down to the second level. His heart is beating rapidly in his chest, all the adrenaline of a fight rushing through his bloodstream but with none of the real danger. He makes his way to the regular stairs and takes them back up to the top, finding an obstacle to hide behind. It’s a long shot but he takes aim at where he can just make out Nat through one of the peepholes in the wagon and fires. 

She swears loudly and climbs out of the wagon, glaring daggers at him. 

He waves and jumps over the railing, dropping easily to the second floor as she follows after him. She manages to tag him twice before he gets her again, taking advantage of the ten seconds her phaser is down to slip into the tunnel. Even with her tailing him, he manages to get her twice more before she flat out trips him, bringing him up to five hits. But she has nine. That doesn’t mean she makes it easy for him and she doesn’t give him an inch, tagging him four more times before he finally, _finally_ tags her out. 

“I’ll admit,” she sighs as her vest lights turn red and a buzzer sounds overhead, “I did not expect this outcome when I invited you along.”

“A lot of people underestimate me.” He follows her toward the stairs, satisfied smile firmly on his face.

“Yeah, well, let’s not mention the secret tunnels to Clint because if he wants to come back here again, I wanna be able to use them to my advantage.” She brushes a strand of hair that’s come loose from her ponytail away from her face. “Deal?”

“Deal!” 

When they exit the arena, Clint is waiting for them on the bench, arms crossed over his chest. He takes one look at Nat’s red vest and starts spluttering. “How in the _fuck_ -”

Steve strips his vest off and pulls his shirt back over his head, running his fingers through his hair. “That was fun. We should do it again sometimes.” 

The attendant tells them their scores before they leave, a little in awe over how all three of them managed to have one hundred percent shot accuracy and when they get out onto the street, they say goodbye. Steve’s headed back to Brooklyn Heights and the other two to Clint’s place in Bed Stuy. He’d jogged it to the laser tag place rather than take his bike so on his walk back, he decides to stop in a paint shop not far from his place. 

He’s not sure what exactly he has in mind, but the state of his spare room is kind of sad right now, boring beige walls and he doesn’t have anything better to do in the evenings and on the weekend then to repaint it. It’s not that he’s thinking of turning it into a nursery specifically, even though he’s currently got furniture for Estelle in there. He picks out drop cloths, painters tape, primer, rollers and brushes and finally decides on a light sage green for the wall color. It’s pretty, but neutral. 

Before he starts painting he takes all the furniture out, putting it in the living room. He scrubs down the walls to get any dirt off before he lays the drop cloths and starts taping. He can probably get the primer on all the walls before he stops for dinner and he’ll let it dry overnight and get the first coat on tomorrow. Plan in place, he gets to work.

***

The first thing Bucky says to him on Monday morning is, “You’ve got paint in your hair.”

Steve reaches up to feel as he steps aside to let Bucky into the apartment. Since working for Tony, he’s looking more awake in the mornings because he has an extra hour before he has to get to the office. “Yeah, I spent yesterday working on repainting my spare room. Got the first coat done and I’ll do the second coat tonight probably. You want coffee?”

“Is the sky blue?”

“Um.” Steve walks over to the window, peering outside. “It’s kind of gray, actually.”

Bucky blinks at him and then grins, dropping Estelle’s bag on the floor. “Yes, I want coffee, Steve.” 

While Steve is pouring them both cups, while his back is turned, he casually asks, “So Thanksgiving this week. Any plans?” He reaches for the sugar. 

“Nope. Probably just hanging out in my apartment looking at the Black Friday ads as they come out trying to figure out my budget and what online sales I’m going for since I don’t really want to take her out into the madness. You know,” he takes the cup Steve hands him with a smile, “last year I splurged for a Macbook. This year I’m fuckin’… I don’t know. I guess I’m looking for sales from Babies R Us.” He looks down at the sleeping baby cradled in the crook of his arm.

He has to bite back the urge to ask what things Estelle needs, to say there are millions of dollars sitting in Steve’s bank account, there’s no reason that Bucky should have to pick only from what’s on sale. But he swallows his words, all the more aware of his lack of acknowledgement of ‘social cues’ ever since Bucky had mentioned it. Not that he had been being mean when he’d said it, but it still lingers in the forefront of Steve’s mind, curbing how he _wants_ to talk. “Well, uh. You’re more than welcome to come over. Natasha and Clint are gonna be here too. None of us have family to go home to for the holidays so we kind of… make our own? You’re part of that now, too. If, um, if you want to be.”

It’s interesting to watch the way pink steals its way across Bucky’s face, staining his cheeks and nose. He licks his lips and takes a sip from his coffee, clearing his throat before he speaks. “Sure, why not? As long as you don’t expect me to cook.”

“Hey, I think you could manage to mash the potatoes without ruining dinner.” Steve hides his smile behind the rim of his cup. “Maybe even _peel_ them.”

“Now you’re just asking too much,” Bucky gasps, setting his cup down to press his hand against his chest. There’s a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, a quirk to his lips. His sweatshirt is slightly too big, sleeves half covering his hands and it looks so soft on him and Steve just has the worst urge to do something like hug him or brush his curls away from his forehead to place a kiss there. 

He swallows hard and turns away, draining the rest of the coffee from his cup in three gulps and putting way more attention than necessary into washing it. “So, yeah. Thanksgiving. If you want, um,” he glances up at Bucky, “if you want to go to the sales in person, you can stay over and I’ll watch Estelle while you go out. They start at like two am, right? Or just anytime, like if you have a date or something. I don’t mind watching her in the evenings.” God, why did he mention _dates?_ He’s just gonna get his feelings hurt for no reason when Bucky goes on a date with someone else even though Steve hasn’t said anything about wanting to take him on one and, frankly, never will. He values what he has with Bucky and Estelle both too much to risk it for a crush, just because Bucky’s the first person outside of work connections that’s actually stuck around and treated him like he isn’t only Captain America. 

“I-” Bucky hesitates, glancing down at the baby. “Depending on the sale, I’d actually probably have to leave to line up pretty much immediately after dinner to even have a hope of getting my hands on the good stuff. I mean, I’m not trying to get tech or anything, so it’s a little different, but still. I’ll have to think about it. I’ve never left her at night, you know? I mean there was the time I fell asleep here, but that’s different. It’s not that I don’t think you’d take good care of her, I just-”

“No, I get it.” Steve smiles at him and glances at the clock on the wall. “Shit, you better get going or you’ll miss your train.” He grabs the breakfast sandwich he’d wrapped in parchment paper and foil from the countertop as Bucky shifts his hold on Estelle to kiss her forehead. “Waffles, bacon, and this time I made the eggs as an omelet so you get cheese and veggies too.”

“You know,” Bucky passes Estelle to Steve and grabs the sandwich from him, “until I met you, I genuinely cannot remember the last time I had anything for breakfast other than coffee.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you met me then, isn’t it?” He retorts. “Go on, go to work. We’ll be here when you get back.”

Bucky walks backwards out of the kitchen, impish grin on his face. “You’re gonna make someone a great housewife someday, Rogers!”

It’s kind of ironic, how appealing that sounds now. Growing up, when he had to fight so hard to prove he _wasn’t_ weak, he’d rejected every soft thing. Even his art, he’d kept hidden, only his mother ever catching him putting pencil to paper. And now that he’s big and strong, he craves that softness that he’d pushed away for so long. He sighs, looking down as Estelle stretches and her eyes flutter open, blinking up at him a few times before a wide, toothless smile spreads across her face. He’d been reading online and they said that at six weeks, these are the first real smiles and anything before this would have been due to gas. So it makes his heart thud hard in his chest, spreading warm through him. “Good morning, angel. Hungry?”

He needs to run some errands but it’s early for that yet so dawdles cleaning the living room while Estelle has tummy time. She’s starting to hold her head up, eyes tracking him as he moves around the room. By midmorning he’s fed her again and changed her into something more suited to the frigid weather. The high for the day is a whopping thirty six degrees, which isn’t a big deal for Steve but definitely not something to take lightly for Estelle. He bundles her in a fleece sleeper and a soft hat and then straps on the new baby carrier he’d ordered, zipping his wind turning coat over the both of them. When he’s sure she’s got enough room to breathe, he shoulders the diaper bag, grabs his keys, and heads out. 

First stop is the art store, where he roams up and down the aisles, perusing the goods until he settles on a sketchbook with a faux leather cover, a set of charcoal pencils, and black and white inking pens. The pencils come with a fancy eraser too, which is nice. The clerk puts everything in a little brown paper bag and doesn’t seem to recognize him at all, which is also nice. It’s bound to happen eventually unless he stays inside with Estelle at all times but he’s not looking forward to the day that Fox News no doubt assumes he’s had a child outside of marriage and does everything in their power to figure out who the other parent is while simultaneously dragging his name through the mud. 

The next stop is the baby store. Now, up to this point, he’s been strictly ordering online, but today he’s looking for something that he’d prefer to test in person. So that next time he wants to go out with Estelle he doesn’t have to worry about freezing her to death, he’s looking for a car seat. When he’d first got out of the ice, SHIELD had set him up with his apartment and a fancy bulletproof SUV. Of course, he’d immediately went and bought a motorcycle instead and he’s only driven the car on days with extreme weather. But having the option to take it when he has Estelle instead of walking or going on the subway is appealing, so he needs a seat for her. 

That’s assuming he ever makes it to the carseat section, because if little baby clothes were distracting through the computer screen, they’re even more so in person. He abruptly switches directions, shucking his coat off and tossing it in the cart as Estelle starts to whimper, probably too warm under the heaters blasting overhead. “That better?” He taps her nose, grinning when she coos. 

There’s no one else in the entire section, so he takes his time, browsing through the baby girl clothes. Not even checking the price tags as he tosses outfit after outfit into the cart. He frowns when they don’t have the cute little Frozen pajamas in her size and then shrugs and gets the eighteen month size ones instead, since they’re the only ones left, likely since the movie is coming out in like two days. They can be stored until she’s older. Which has him circling back and picking up doubles of some of the clothes he already has in the cart, but in bigger sizes. He gets little sets of socks and hats and when he’s finally done in the clothes, he gets distracted by the toy section. And hey, she’s getting up old enough to start needing toys now. It’s like the place is set up to pull in anyone who comes in the door and the next thing you know you’re parting with all your money. Luckily enough, Steve has money to spare. The clothes are joined by several soft rattles, nothing that she’ll accidentally hurt herself with. He also gets a fluffy brown stuffed rabbit. 

He finally makes it to the carseat section and if he hadn’t done his research beforehand, he would have been completely overwhelmed with the options, but he has a few different models in mind, he just wants to test Estelle in them first. There’s a store employee in this section and she comes up to him with a friendly smile, asking if she can help with anything.

“I was wondering if it’s okay if I put her in the seats to test the fit before I decide on one?” He asks, patting Estelle’s back. 

“Of course!” The woman turns her attention to the baby and coos. “Oh, she is just adorable. The only thing we ask with the infant seats is that you make sure that she’s not got a leaky diaper before you try her. Are there any in particular you have in mind?”

He lists them off as he carefully takes Estelle out of the carrier, checking to make sure her diaper is still dry from the outside. “If I buy in store, can you deliver?” There’s a vehicle seat in the middle of the aisle and the worker puts one of the seats in it, stepping aside as he approaches. He moves the straps to the side in the first seat and carefully lays Estelle in it. She’s bound to look small in any of them but he doesn’t like the way, even with the extra support around the head, this seat swallows her. Next.

“Absolutely, we even offer free delivery,” she smiles and moves the rejected seat back onto the shelf. “We see this a lot. Parents don’t drive and then they have a baby and realize after the fact that they actually need a car after all. How old is she? About a month?”

“Six weeks.”

“Ah. Did mom go back to work today?”

And he wants badly to pretend, a fantasy of a normal life, but it’s dishonest. “Oh. Uh. No, actually she’s my friend’s daughter, I’m just… you know. Babysitting. He’s the only parent.”

Her gaze flicks to the stuff he’s got in the cart and back to him as he carefully lifts Estelle from the seat and she smiles. “Well, you’re a good friend then. Every parent needs a good support system.”

“That’s what I’m trying to be.” He nods at the seat. “I’ll take this one. Does it come in any colors other than black?”

She scans the barcode on the shelf tag and taps the screen of her device a few times. “It looks like we also have it in pink with flower print and in light green.”

“The green,” it’s not that he’s specifically going for a theme, what with picking a seat that goes along with the color he’d chosen to paint the spare room. Green is calm, soothing. It pairs well with other colors. He takes the paper that she prints out, instructing him to give it to the cashier to purchase the seat. Once he’s thanked her, he situates Estelle back in the carrier and starts heading back toward the front. 

And then he stumbles upon the most tempting section of all. The mock nursery setups. His shoe squeaks against the floor when he stops abruptly. As long as he doesn’t plan to _buy_ anything, it can’t hurt to just _look_. So he takes his time roaming through the different miniature rooms, pointing out the ones he likes to Estelle. His favorite one is the one in cream white, the wood delicately carved with flowers and stars. He traces his fingers over the carvings and whispers so only the baby can hear him, “If I was making a nursery… I’d buy this for you.”

But he isn’t. He _isn’t_. 

So he puts it from his mind and makes his purchases and heads home.

***

Even though he’d done significant research into the logistics of making Thanksgiving dinner and even though he’d prepped everything he could over the past two days, it’s still somewhat daunting to try to get all the food done at the same time. He gets up slightly earlier than usual to get the turkey in the oven and start prepping the dough. The yeast rolls will need time to rise. When Natasha shows up with Clint in tow around nine, armed with a covered dish she won’t let him peek at and a bottle of vodka, he puts them to work when they ask if there’s anything they can help with. 

“We miss you on missions,” Clint starts, looking at Steve over the pile of corn he’d volunteered to shuck. “It’s not the same without you there to do something stupid and yet wildly successful.”

“I know.” Steve taps his palms against the countertop, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s not that I don’t miss you guys too, but. I don’t know. It’s not like they really _need_ me. You’re doing fine without me. And right now, Bucky and Estelle, they _do_ need me so.”

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Natasha already has an evil glint in her eyes, “So, since you don’t want me to set you up on any dates and I know all these lovely, eligible young ladies, I could just set Bucky up with them instead. I mean, the guy’s kind of freakin’ hot. Lotta people would think he’s a catch. What do you think Steve?”

“About Bucky being a catch?”

“Sure, that too. I _mean_ about me setting Bucky up?”

What he thinks is that she needs to mind her business and stop playing matchmaker. What he thinks is that if anyone should be taking Bucky out, it’s him. But she’s trying to goad him. He knows that she knows that he has a hangup when it comes to Bucky but he’s not willing to admit to it. “I think you should ask him if that’s something he even wants.” He turns and walks to the fridge, grabbing a jar of fresh rosemary from one of the shelves. 

“Fine, maybe I will. There’s this family that just moved into Clint’s building, they’ve got a girl about twenty two, I think she’s single. She’s really good with her younger siblings, just perfect for Bucky I think.”

The glass jar that Steve is holding shatters in his grip, shards and rosemary sprigs raining across the floor. Natasha raises one eyebrow, smirking at him. He winces at the little cuts all over the palm of his hand. They’ll heal before it’s even time to eat, but it’s inconvenient. “Shit.”

“I’ll get the broom,” Clint jumps up, leaving the room.

Steve steps around the glass, over to the sink to rinse his hand. “Look,” he glances up at Natasha, “I know what you’re trying to do but can you just. Can you just leave it alone? I don’t want to drive him away. I think I’ve got something good, having him as a friend. I don’t want to do anything to mess that up.”

“I just want you to be happy,” Natasha touches his shoulder lightly. 

“I am happy. I’m happy with what I have. I don’t need anything more. It’s enough.”

“Is it? You should be _loved_ , Steve.” She smiles at him, a little sad, as Clint walks back in the room. “Just think about it for me.”

Bucky doesn’t show up until nearly eleven, still looking like he’s half asleep and Estelle wailing like her life depends on it. Steve grabs the bottle he’d prepped ahead of time from the warmer and passes it to Bucky with a smile, shooing him into the living room where the Macy’s parade is playing on the TV screen. By that point, Clint is trying to test the food that’s sitting on the counters so Steve banishes him from the kitchen too. Let him and Bucky entertain each other while Steve and Nat are busy with the last touches. This is when things get intense, turkey coming out of the oven while the rolls and broccoli cheese casserole go in, and gravy is being made. At least she doesn’t mention their conversation again.

Steve doesn’t have a dining room so most of the dishes get put on the island or on the countertops and when the food is done, everyone dishes what they want and then they migrate to the living room. 

“Alright,” Nat flops down on the couch, curling her feet under her body. “I’m announcing a moratorium on football. Either we change the channel or we turn the TV off, but we are not watching this.” When nobody protests, she grabs the remote and starts flicking through the channels. 

“Ooh, Tangled is about to come on.”

Clint snickers, nudging Bucky. “Really? Out of everything you wanna watch _that_?”

“Yes and I think I should be allowed.”

“What’s it about?” Steve asks and everyone’s heads swivel toward him. 

“You haven’t seen Tangled yet?” Bucky gasps. “That’s a _crime_ , Steve. That’s it. We’re watching.”

Natasha clicks on the film and they settle in to watch, with only minimal grumbling from Clint and even so, Steve catches him tapping his foot along to the first song. Steve has been working his way through the Disney filmography by year and he’s only up to the 90s so it frustrates him a little to jump ahead like this but he grits his teeth and honestly, the movie does pull him in enough that he can enjoy it. They use the commercial breaks to get seconds- or in Steve’s case, thirds and fourths because his metabolism demands it. 

When the film gets to the scene with the paper lanterns, Bucky says, “Everyone shut up right now this is the best part,” and he shifts his hold on Estelle so she can see the screen, though it’s doubtful if she’ll even pay attention to it. 

But Steve pays attention. He’s sucked into the scene, the colors and the beauty of the animation and he knows suddenly what he’s painting next in the spare bedroom. Even if it never gets used, even if he ends up painting over it later, it’ll be fun to paint a mural. He looks over and Bucky is quietly mouthing the lyrics to Estelle.

They spend the rest of the day lazing around, watching whatever comes on the TV and snacking at the leftovers. When Clint and Nat leave, they each take a generous helping of the food for later. That just leaves the three of them, Bucky dozing on the couch with Estelle asleep on her stomach across his chest. Steve sits in the rocker with his sketchbook and quietly blocks out their shapes, sketching in details in an unpracticed hand. He’s not happy with the finished product, but it’s been a while since he’s drawn anything so it’s to be expected. 

Bucky eventually stirs when Estelle starts to get fussy, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. “Time’s it?”

“Uh,” Steve grabs his phone and checks the screen. “Almost six.”

He groans, looking out the window at the grey sky. “Fuck. I really don’t want to go out in the cold.”

“So don’t,” Steve says simply. “Stay.”

And he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the laser tag place is not a real place, i made it up, but if it is a real place someone tell me where it is because frankly it sounds so much fucking fun to me and i would like to go there immediately. also steve is nesting and i think he should be allowed to do that!
> 
> sorry the thanksgiving scene is kind of short and not too much detail it just wasnt happening for me yikes


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next few updates may or may not take longer than the previous ones have been, not only am i planning on them being longer because i have a lot to put in them but i also have family visiting from out of state and i'm dealing with other things happening in my personal life that may wreak havoc on my mental state and make writing difficult. sorry in advance if this happens but just know i'm not abandoning this fic!!

Two things happen on December the eighth. First, Bucky wakes up with a pounding headache that caffeine just isn’t fixing. He straps Estelle into the bouncer he’d bought and brings her in the bathroom while he showers in the hottest possible water. She doesn’t seem to mind his awful, out of tune singing, but the people who live under him definitely do, not that he cares. When he’s dry and in a soft t-shirt and sweatpants, he makes Estelle a bottle and himself another cup of coffee. Even though it does nothing for his head, it soothes the growing ache in the back of his throat. He is most definitely coming down with a whopper of a cold, which is the last thing he needs when Estelle still isn’t sleeping through the night yet. 

The second thing, as he notices when he looks out the window, is the first snow of the year. The sky is grey and heavy, snowflakes swirling down in little flurries, melting once they touch the ground but lingering on other things, like the awning of the bakery across the street. He looks down at Estelle and she pops off of the bottle to smile up at him and make a little _aaaa_ sound. She’s eight weeks old now and the newborn clothes are starting to get tight on her as she fills out and gains weight, little rolls of baby fat starting to form on her thighs. He’s making enough money working for Stark now that he can afford to buy her bigger sizes and he’d intended on going shopping this week but his illness might put a damper on that.

“It’s snowing, baby,” he tells her, breaking off to cough into his elbow. “Your first snow and probably about to be your first illness. I’m sorry, Stellie, but you’re exposed and I can’t take it back, much as I wish I could.” At least they have her two month checkup scheduled in a couple of days. If she’s sick by then, they can just kill two birds with one stone and get a prescription for whatever he might be able to give her to ease the symptoms. As for him, he rummages through his cabinets and washes a dose of Dayquil down with coffee.

He grabs the blankets off his bed, spreading one in the living room floor for Estelle to play on her tummy and the other one he huddles under on his side on the couch. The apartment has shitty insulation and a cranky radiator so there’s always a chill in the air and he feels it even more as the fever starts to set in, shivering even under the heavy quilt. All he wants to do is go to _bed_ and not leave until his body has expelled the demon that’s inhabiting him but he has a baby to watch and tomorrow he has work. He really wants his mom and the soup she made every time he was sick growing up. But he will never have them again, so he curls tighter in on himself, heavy eyes on Estelle. 

When she gets fussy he changes her diaper and guides her fist to her mouth because she’s taken a liking to sucking on it over the past week. It takes about ten minutes of rocking back and forth before she falls asleep and he gratefully puts her down in the bassinet he’d gotten from Target and flops onto his own mattress. He’s asleep just about as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

The day and night pass in a feverish haze of only getting up to take care of Estelle or to take more medication. By the time the sun is starting to rise, she’s cranky, her nose is runny, and when he checks her temperature, it’s an alarming 101.8. She turns away from the bottle he offers her and starts coughing, rattling deep in her lungs. He scrambles for his phone. 

“Bucky?”

“Steve, I-” he breaks off to cough, almost doubling over with it. 

“Jesus, are you okay?”

“I’m sick but that doesn’t matter.” He smooths his hand over Estelle’s head, his fever still high enough that he can hardly feel hers. “Listen, Estelle is sick too. We just woke up, she won’t eat and she’s got a pretty high fever. The doctor’s office doesn’t even open for another few hours. Do you think it’s okay to wait long enough to call them?” To him, exhausted and feverish, it makes sense that Steve would just _know_ these things. He seems to know everything else about babies, so. 

“Uh. Hang on.” There’s a few minutes of silence on the other end before Steve speaks again. “Okay, I’m coming to pick you up, we’re gonna take her to the hospital.”

“The _hospital_?” He yelps, hugging her tighter against his chest which makes her start screaming. “But it. I thought it was just a cold?”

“Google says any fever is dangerous at her age.” Steve says and there’s a door opening and shutting and the jangle of keys. “It’s sleeting pretty hard so I’m gonna let you know when I’m pulling up outside your building, okay?”

“I don’t want to expose you.” Bucky smothers another coughing fit in his elbow. 

“Bucky.” Steve laughs, just a little. “Serum, remember? I can’t get sick.”

“Right.”

“I’m gonna hang up now so I can focus on driving but I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?”

Bucky fumbles around the apartment, shoving extra clothes and supplies in the diaper bag along with his wallet and keys. He doesn’t know what they’re in for when they reach the hospital but he knows it’s not going to be a pleasant experience. Estelle won’t latch onto her bottle for more than a few seconds at a time- he’s still trying to get her to drink when Steve calls him again. 

“I’m outside your building, black SUV. I can’t park the car here so you’re gonna have to come down. Be careful, the ground is icy.” 

“Okay.” Bucky pulls his coat tight around his body, covering Estelle with it and heads downstairs. Steve wasn’t kidding about the ice, and if he hadn’t been expecting it, his feet would have gone out from under him. As it is, he skids across the pavement to the waiting car, wrenching open the door on the back drivers side. The center seat is already taken up with an infant car seat and he glances at Steve in the rearview mirror in confusion. “Who’s car is this?”

“Mine,” Steve says mildly, twisting around to look at him. His brows draw down and he reaches out to press the back of his hand against Bucky’s forehead and the side of his face. “You’re burning up.”

Steve’s fingers are cool, soft, and Bucky lets himself lean into them for only a second before he pulls back. “I don’t care about me,” he mumbles, fumbling with the straps in the car seat to get Estelle buckled in. She’s squirming around, crying weakly, hoarsely.

“Well, I care about both of you, so.” Steve’s face is unreadable and he turns back around as Bucky buckles in, pulling the car away from the curb. “Any preference on which hospital?” He meets Bucky’s eyes in the mirror and Bucky shakes his head, coughing.

For his entire life, he’s never gotten sick easily, but when he _does_ it hits him harder. Each cough feels like a saw ripping through his lungs. His muscles ache, he can’t get warm, no matter how high his temperature is and how many blankets he has. And if he feels this shitty, he can’t even imagine how it feels to Estelle. Her eyes are glassy, bright spots of red in her cheeks. He lets her grasp the tip of his finger in her fist and swallows the lump in the back of his throat because he did this to her. If he had been more careful not to pick up germs, then they wouldn’t be going to the fucking hospital right now. 

When they get there, Steve pulls up in the overhang so Bucky can take Estelle in without having to go through the weather again. He turns around in his seat again as Bucky is getting the baby out of the carseat. “Leave the bag, I’ll bring it when I come in.”

“You’re staying?”

“Of course.” Steve smiles at him as he gets out of the car. “I’ll be right behind you.”

The blast of cold air that hits Bucky when he goes through the automatic doors sends a violent shiver through him but he doesn’t stop, heading right for the desk. “My daughter- her fever is almost 102.” 

“How old is she?” The nurse doesn’t miss a beat as she nods at the chair next to the desk. 

“Eight weeks.” He pulls the collar of his shirt up over his face to cough. While ERs are generally a germ hotspot, he doesn’t want to contribute any more to it, if he can help it. “Um, I woke up sick yesterday morning and she started getting sick a few hours ago. Doesn’t really wanna eat, runny nose, cough.”

The nurse hums, nodding as she types into the computer. “Full name?”

“Estelle Adelaide Barnes.”

She’s still taking their information when Steve comes in, his hair damp against his forehead. He stands behind Bucky, warmth radiating off him and Bucky can’t help but lean his head back against Steve’s _rock solid stomach_. “You’re warm,” he says softly, tilting his head far enough back to look up at him. 

Something flickers across Steve’s face, hidden again before Bucky can make out what it was and Steve hesitates, just a moment, before he lifts his hand and runs it gently through Bucky’s hair. Cool fingers against his scalp, soothing repetitive strokes. He’s a solid, comforting presence as the nurse hooks a hospital bracelet around Estelle’s ankle and they get sent straight through to triage where her vitals are taken and then immediately shown to a room by another nurse who asks a bunch more questions and fills out some paperwork.

“I think this is the first time I’ve ever been in an emergency room where I didn’t have to wait for at least an hour to be seen.” Bucky comments as he sits on the edge of the bed in the little curtained off area. Technically, he’s not the patient, but it’s not like he’s gonna just put Estelle down on the giant bed and leave her there.

The nurse that had shown them to the room pauses on her way out to glance at him with an overly reassuring smile. “It’s a bit different when it comes to little babies. Top priority.”

And that’s not comforting _at all_. 

When Bucky stiffens, Steve leans across the tiny space from his chair to the bed to squeeze Bucky’s knee. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky can’t respond because he’s overtaken with his worst coughing fit yet, seemingly endless and he can’t catch his breath even for a moment. It hurts everywhere, like he’s swallowed fire, tears wetting his eyes as he wheezes and gasps. When Steve reaches out again, maybe to pat his back or something, Bucky pushes Estelle into his arms so he can double over, gagging in spite of himself at the force of the coughs that just won’t stop. When he finally, finally catches a breath, his entire body is shaking.

“Easy, ba-” Steve clears his throat, “Bucky.”

Bucky wipes his eyes on the back of his hand as he slowly sits upright again, blinking at Steve. “Can you go find me some water, please?” His voice comes out in a whisper, the words like broken glass against the back of his throat.

“I’ll be right back.” Steve carefully passes Estelle back to him and stands, touching the side of Bucky’s face lightly before he leaves the cubicle. He’s only gone a few minutes before he returns bearing a bottle of water that he opens and hands to Bucky as he sits back in his chair. “I think the doctor is about to come in. I had to pass the desk to get to a vending machine and they were discussing you.”

“What’d they say?” Bucky hands the bottle back to him since Steve still has the lid, cradling Estelle closer to him. She’s sleeping fitfully which he guesses is better than screaming. Any rest is better than none.

“Nothing much. Just something about a baby with a high fever.”

The doctor walks in while Steve is still finishing his sentence, pumping hand sanitizer out of the dispenser and pulling on a pair of gloves. “Hi, I’m Dr. Witemeyer, I’m gonna be taking care of you this morning. So with infants, a high fever can sometimes be life and death, an indication of a bacterial infection, like meningitis. Normally in these cases, we would do a full septic work-up, which includes but isn’t limited to blood tests, chest x-rays, and a spinal tap even with the presence of other symptoms because bacterial infections can often be mistaken as a cold or flu.” She doesn’t pause at Bucky’s panicked recoil at the words _spinal tap_. “However, you were sick before she was, yes?”

“Yeah, I’ve felt awful since yesterday morning.” 

“Symptoms?”

“Headache, sore throat, fever, muscle aches, chills, coughing my lungs up every five minutes.” He ticks them off, rubbing his eyes. “A little bit of nausea but that might be because I took Dayquil with coffee on an empty stomach.”

“Right.” Dr. Witemeyer shakes her head. “Try to eat something with your next dose. So for Estelle, due to the circumstances, I think we can start with a swab for flu. If it comes back negative, we’ll move forward with the septic work-up, but I feel confident that you both have a nasty case of it. It’s been hitting pretty hard the past couple of weeks. If you don’t mind laying her down, I’ll examine her and then administer the test. We should have results within twenty minutes.” She moves over to the cart with the laptop that the other nurse had logged their paperwork on, typing rapidly as Bucky carefully lays Estelle down on the mattress, trying not to disturb her sleep.

Not that he’s got high hopes that she’ll sleep through the examination and the flu swab. 

And he was right. She stirs during the examination but the second the doctor swabs her, she starts crying, her wails broken up by coughing. Bucky lifts her to rest against his shoulder, rocking back and forth, rubbing her back. “Shh, baby. It’s okay, I’m sorry.”

It’s probably about thirty minutes before the doctor comes back, but she’s smiling and that perks Bucky up. 

“So the test came back positive for H1N1, which is rough, as I’m sure you know. But the good news is, you came in right away and she doesn’t seem to be too dehydrated so I’m going to give you a prescription for Tamiflu and let you go home, okay? But if she gets worse or goes too long without a wet diaper, I want you to bring her right back. This strand of flu is particularly brutal so make sure you monitor her and yourself well. Stay home. Plenty of fluids and rest, okay?” She pats his shoulder. “I can’t give you a prescription for yourself, but you can continue to take Dayquil or other over the counter meds. What I _can_ do is give you a note for work, if you need one.”

“Oh god.” Bucky hadn’t even thought about the fact that he is definitely missing work for this. He’s gonna have to remember to call in. “Yes, thank you.”

It takes a little while to get the prescription and discharge paperwork, but they’re out of there soon enough and it takes Bucky a few minutes to realize they aren’t headed back toward his apartment. “Where’re we going?”

“First the pharmacy to drop this off,” Steve holds up the prescription, “And then to my place. You’re in no shape to take care of yourself, let alone monitor Estelle.”

“You don’t have to take care of us, you know.” He has to put up at least a token protest, even though the thought of sinking into Steve’s awesome couch and being able to sleep off this fucking flu, knowing he’ll watch over Estelle is so, so appealing. 

“Believe me, I know what it’s like going through the flu with no one there.” He smiles a little sadly. “I’m at no risk to get sick and I don’t even need a lot of sleep so even if Estelle cries all night it’s okay. I want to take care of you.”

The words set off a spark of warmth in his chest, bubbly and spreading through him. That… yeah, he can’t argue with that.

***

Going into Steve’s apartment, Bucky thinks he sees some big furniture boxes in the hallway but then Steve’s gently nudging him into the softest bed he’s ever laid on in his life and he’s falling asleep and when he wakes up to the sound of Estelle crying hoarsely and goes to find her, they’re gone and all the other doors are shut tight. Bucky finds the two of them in the rocking chair, lamp light spilling golden over them. It’s already dark out. “How long did I sleep for?”

Steve looks over at him, not ceasing his back and forth motion. “All day. I called Tony, you’re off until after Christmas break. He doesn’t want you spreading the flu through the building. How are you feeling?”

“Like dying.” However much sleep he’d gotten hadn’t helped because he feels even worse now than he did this morning. When he’d been walking down the hall, it had felt like the floor was rolling under his feet, the walls moving around him. He slumps onto the couch, pulling the throw blanket tightly around his shaking body. “What about Estelle?”

Steve sighs, tipping his head back. “I’ve been giving her the medicine and her fever has gone down a little but she’s still miserable and it’s a fight to get her to take a bottle. I don’t think she’s any worse than this morning though.” He stands and walks over to Bucky, bending down to hand the baby to him. “You’re gonna have to hold her upright against your shoulder. Any time I try to lay her down, she screams.” He grabs a thermometer off the side table. “Put this in your mouth.”

Bucky looks at it, then back up to Steve, rubbing his hand over Estelle’s back. “This isn’t the same one you’re using on her, is it?” He’d seen how they’d taken her temperature at the hospital, and he doesn’t really want that coming anywhere near his mouth, thanks. 

“No, I picked up extra stuff when I went to pick up the prescription.” Steve rolls his eyes. “And I’ve been taking her temperature under her arm, anyway.”

Relenting, Bucky takes the thermometer from him, holding it under his tongue. It’s better than the shitty old one he has at home and starts beeping at him in less than thirty seconds. When he looks at the little screen, it reads 103.9. 

Steve purses his lips together and gently pushes Bucky’s damp hair away from his burning forehead. “I got medicine for you too, but you’ll have to eat something before you can take it. I made chicken noodle soup, do you think you could have some of that?”

He’s not really hungry and the thought of trying to eat with his throat feeling like it’s been run through a blender is not appealing at all but he does want the medication. “Yeah. Little bit.”

“‘Kay.” Steve pushes his fingers through Bucky’s hair one more time before he draws back and heads toward the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.” 

Bucky leans back against the upholstery, Estelle whimpering and coughing against his neck. “I know, baby. I wish I could make it better.” His eyes slip closed. 

God, his head is fucking splitting. 

“Buck, don’t fall asleep again yet.” Steve’s voice startles him into opening his eyes. He’s standing in front of Bucky, holding a steaming bowl in one hand and a blue Gatorade and bottle of medicine in the other. He sets them all down on the coffee table so that he can take Estelle back from Bucky.

The bowl is about half full, mostly broth but enough chicken and veggies and noodles to give it a little substance in his stomach. The warmth of the liquid soothes the ache in the back of his throat and while he still isn’t hungry, he does manage to finish most of what’s in the bowl. Steve takes it from him and hands him two blue gel capsules and the opened Gatorade.

Steve tugs gently on his elbow once he’s swallowed them down. “C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.”

“Don’t wanna put you out of your bed,” Bucky mumbles, but stands at Steve’s urging. “I can take a shift taking care of Estelle if you’re tired.”

“You’re not putting me out,” Steve guides him toward the hallway. “I never sleep in it anyway. You almost fell asleep again the two minutes I was in the kitchen, you need to rest.”

“Mmm,” The bedroom is dark and cool and he all but flops onto the mattress, pulling the cloud soft comforter over his body. When Steve turns to go, he reaches out and grabs his wrist in the dark. “Take care of her.”

“I will.”

“Like she’s your own.”

“Always, Buck.” Steve whispers. 

“Cool.” Bucky presses his face into the pillow that smells nothing like Steve. Sleep is already tugging at the edges of his consciousness. “You make a great dad for her, you know?” And if Steve hears his mumbled words, if he replies, Bucky doesn’t know because he’s already asleep.

***

Bucky gets worse before he gets better. Time passes in a blurry haze, sweating through the sheets, so much pressure in his head that he can’t tell how long it’s been when he wakes again and Steve is sitting in the rocker that’s been moved from the living room so that it’s next to the bed. Estelle is sleeping in only a diaper against Steve’s bare chest and Steve is asleep too, insanely long lashes brushing his skin, not quite enough to hide the shadows under his eyes. He may not be able to catch germs from them, but it’s clear in this moment of vulnerability that their illness has taken a toll on him too. Without him, Bucky doesn’t even know where they’d be. He’s endlessly grateful.

Rolling onto his side, Bucky watches them. Not only admiring the truly astonishing physique that Steve just casually has, but also taking in Steve’s deep, measured breaths; how Estelle breathes in response, her tiny hand flexing against Steve’s collarbone. He catches sight of a bottle of water on the nightstand and reaches for it, his arm heavy with exhaustion. He drains half of it, the crinkle of plastic making Steve stir. 

His eyes flutter open, widening when he sees Bucky half sitting up. “You’re awake.”

“So it seems.” Bucky puts the water back, propping his chin in his hand. “What happened?”

“It’s been three days. Your fever spiked to 106 on Monday night and I almost took you to the hospital but I got it to come down to 103 again. You’ve been out of it.” He supports Estelle with one hand so he can lean forward to rest the back of his hand against Bucky’s cheek. The relief in his eyes is palpable. “Your fever’s broken.”

“And Estelle?” Sure, it’s a little alarming that he’s been so sick, but he cares more about his daughter than his own wellness. “Is she-”

“Her fever broke on Tuesday morning. She’s still been sick and she won’t sleep lying down at all but she’s on the mending end. Just cranky. Runny nose, cough. Probably a headache.”

“Yeah.” Bucky frowns. “I feel like my head is gonna fall off my shoulders any minute now. The pressure is awful.” He rubs at the space between his eyebrows. 

“Do you want something to eat?”

Bucky looks up at him. “Do you have any ice cream?”

“Tell you what,” Steve’s lips quirk up, a tiny smile, “if you have some more soup, I’ll see what I can do about ice cream. Okay?”

“Okay.” He really wants to hold Estelle, to check her over and assure himself that she truly is okay, but he doesn’t want to disturb her sleep and his bladder is just about to burst so he refrains from reaching out for her, instead pushing himself into a fully sitting position. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

Steve points at a door by the desk in the room. “You can use that one; it’s closer. And if you’re up to it, after you eat, maybe a bath?”

Grimacing, Bucky nods. His nose is still pretty blocked but after three days sweating through a fever, he doubts he smells too daisy fresh. He’s pretty sure something has died and rotted in the back of his throat and when he stands, his vision swims for a minute and he has to slump back against the mattress again until it clears. “M’okay.” He mumbles, standing again and heading for the bathroom. 

Maybe it’s brain damage from the fever, but he’s pretty sure he’s never looked worse. When he stands in front of the mirror to wash his hands after peeing, his hair is a matted rats nest, he’s got a patchy beard trying to come in, and he’s pale and drawn, eyes rimmed in dark shadows. He’s only wearing boxers and a loose t-shirt that has to be Steve’s. The fact that Steve probably changed him isn’t comforting or exciting; it makes him squirm a little, hating that the only time Steve has been that close to him was when he was so ill he wasn’t even lucid. Not that he isn’t grateful, he is. More for Estelle’s sake than his own, but still. 

Even standing for this long has his body aching with exertion and he has to use the counter and wall to support himself as he makes his way back to the bed. Steve isn’t in the room anymore and he doesn’t have the energy to go looking for him, so Bucky sits propped up against the headboard and downs the rest of the water bottle. In this moment of solitude, he lets his gaze wander over the room, taking in Steve’s space for the first time. 

The walls are bare, painted white. On the backside of the door that leads to the hall, the Captain America shield is hanging on a hook. If he wasn’t weak as shit right now, he’d be tempted to go over and look at it closer. Yeah, he’s known who Steve is for a while, but that’s _Steve_. This is the symbol, the shield. It’s intriguing. But he turns his attention to the rest of the space. The bed is at least king sized if not larger, positioned to the side of the room, not quite pressed up against a wall on the side, but with only a small space wide enough to walk in separating it. There’s no nightstand on that side, but the other side has one, a short, ashy wood table with no drawers that matches the bedframe and the desk across the room. Everything on the desk is meticulously organized and there’s nothing on the nightstand, spare the water bottle Bucky has emptied, a thermometer, and a leather notebook that’s open to a blank page. There’s a lump under the paper where a pencil or pen has been left and maybe the pages have fallen from where they were opened to.

A tiny part of him wants to lean over and flip the pages back, but it’s none of his business so he refrains. And in good time, because Steve quietly enters the room again, armed with a bowl of soup and more water. 

Bucky opens his mouth, then thinks better of it, because what he wants to say is _why’d you have to go and put a shirt on_ and it’s bad enough that he might have said something incriminating while feverish. Instead he reaches for Estelle, who seems to have woken up. She looks a lot better than she did on Monday and when she catches sight of him, she smiles big enough that the corners of her eyes wrinkle up. Bucky grins back, tracing his knuckle down the slope of her nose and booping the dimple in her chin. “I missed you too.”

Steve settles back in the rocking chair, setting the bowl and water on the nightstand. “She likes me, but I don’t think she was very happy when it came bedtime and you weren’t the one there to put her to sleep.”

The words aren’t accusing or meant to make him feel bad or anything, but they lance through Bucky’s chest brutally and he cradles Estelle closer to him, kisses the top of her head. He doesn’t want to let her go for even a moment, so he sits cross legged so that she can rest in the cradle of his legs while he eats the soup that Steve’s brought. He hadn’t thought he was hungry, but with his first bite, his stomach is suddenly aching, demanding he fill it as soon as possible. “Have you slept at all?” He puts the empty bowl back on the nightstand and gathers Estelle into his arms again, fixing Steve with a stern look. 

“Snatches here and there,” Steve shrugs. “The serum lets me go a long time without sleeping though, it’s not a big deal. One time in the war I went two weeks. I mean, that’s an extreme example, but this is nothing.”

“You look exhausted.” He doesn’t comment on the lack of concern Steve has for his own sleep schedule, or the vague memory of the remark Steve had made about how he doesn’t even sleep in this bed. He wants to though.

“I was worried about you. It…. growing up every time I got the flu it was rough like this, but.” He shakes his head. “I mean, this is the future. You have all this medicine and it still didn’t stop you from getting so sick that it scared the shit out of me. I knew you were gonna pull through but it was still awful.” 

“Well.” Bucky swallows hard, against the urge to pull Steve in, to kiss his forehead. “Thank you. For taking care of us. For everything. Also sorry I stink.”

Something flickers behind Steve’s eyes before the shutter, gone when he blinks. “I’ve been to war, Bucky. Once you smell that… well, you go pretty noseblind to things like a few days without a shower.” He glances away, at the empty bowl. “I don’t have any ice cream but I ordered some. If you want to take a bath now, it’ll probably be here by the time you get out.”

He can’t remember the last time he actually had a bath, but soon he finds himself sinking into a tub of steaming water. Steve had added some kind of eucalyptus to it and it helps his nose clear a little bit. If he didn’t want to get back to Estelle as quickly as possible, he’d take the time to luxuriate in it, but instead he scrubs his hair and body clean, and then drains the water, wrapping up in a towel while he scrapes the stubble from his face and neck with a razor Steve had produced on request. There’s also a toothbrush and paste, a brand new deodorant, and clean clothes. 

When he feels like a person again and emerges from the bathroom, the bedding is completely changed and the empty bowl has been taken from the nightstand. He leaves the bedroom, finding Steve in the kitchen. He’s got Estelle in the swing and Bucky immediately goes to her, picking her up even though she seems happy. He’s missed three days with her and he needs her close.

Steve smiles at him, pulling cartons of ice cream from a brown paper bag. “I got vanilla, cookies and cream, chocolate chip cookie dough, strawberry, and mint chip. Take your pick.”

“Cookies and cream.” Bucky leans heavily against the island, coughing into his elbow. They’re not as painful as they had been when he’d first gotten sick, but they’re deeper in his lungs. 

“Go sit down in the living room, for god’s sake, Buck.”

Bucky sticks his tongue out at Steve’s exasperated tone but does as he’s told because he really is exhausted. It’s only a few minutes before Steve joins him. He hands Bucky the bowl of cookies and cream and digs into the mint chip one himself, turning the TV on. They end up watching Home Alone, and it’s a little shocking how close Christmas is. Somehow he’s migrated from sitting up to laying across the couch cushions, with Estelle asleep on his chest. His head isn’t quite in Steve’s lap but he can feel the heat of his thigh against the top of his head and eventually Steve’s hand finds its way into Bucky’s hair, stroking gently through the tangled locks. 

“Got Christmas plans?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head and he knows what’s coming before Steve even says it. It just feels natural, their lives entwining and falling together like this. 

“Spend it here?”

“‘Course.”

***

Bucky spends a couple more days at Steve’s and then goes back to his apartment for the week before the holiday because he’s imposed on Steve enough and he and Estelle are both well enough to go home. His place has never been the most welcoming, but it just feels cold and empty now, missing a piece that it never had in the first place. He has a little time to freak out about what he can possibly give Steve for Christmas that will in any way come close to making up for how much Steve has done for the two of them. There’s nothing that will, but he does come up with a few things that he picks up in person since he doesn’t have time to order them. And something else that he’s been weighing in his mind. 

When they go back to Steve’s apartment on Christmas morning, the place is transformed. There’s a giant tree in the corner of the living room, twinkling with lights and ornaments that make Estelle’s eyes go wide in fascination. Every gift under it is perfectly wrapped and it makes the ones that Bucky adds to the pile look a little slipshod, but in his defence, he had wrapped them while juggling a fussy baby. Steve doesn’t have a fireplace but he’s got a fire screen playing on the television and there’s a stocking hanging on the wall above it that has Estelle’s name on it.

Most of the morning is spent hanging out with Steve in the kitchen, helping with the food where he can- which isn’t a lot- and chatting about nothing much. It’s just the two of them and Estelle, no Clint or Natasha today. When Estelle had first caught sight of Steve, she’d started crying and hadn’t stopped until Bucky had handed her to him. It was equally heart melting and kind of betrayal. True, Bucky works most of the time so Estelle is mostly used to seeing Steve and the week they’d spent at home without seeing him at all had probably had her missing him. But still. Bucky wants to be the favorite parent here.

And he isn’t sure when he started thinking of Steve in that context, rather than just babysitter, but it’s pretty much the truth. He’s much more than just someone who watches her. And aside from a little jealousy, Bucky can’t think of it as anything but a good thing. Sure, it’s awful for his crush, but for Estelle, it’s good. Good that she has Steve. The severity of the flu had scared Bucky enough to start thinking of things like that. Before she came along, there would have been no important affairs left unsorted if he’d died suddenly. But now he _needs_ the security of having a contingency that she’ll be taken care of should anything happen to him. He knows all too well just how quickly parents can be ripped away without warning. Should he pass, he wants for there to be something that would let Steve step in as her guardian. But that’s something he’ll discuss with him later. 

They eat from plates piled high with roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables and Bucky feeds Estelle and then they move into the living room. Migrating toward the pile of gifts under the tree. First, Steve hands him the stocking which is full of clothes and toys for Estelle. There’s also a rectangle gift that has Bucky’s name on it. In it is a framed drawing, so detailed and accurate that if it weren’t for the faint smudging of charcoal in a few places, he’d think it was a photograph. It depicts Bucky and Estelle, a moment he couldn’t put a name to but frozen in time by Steve on this paper. Bucky, half awake, leaning over Estelle and touching his nose to hers, both of them smiling. 

He looks up to see Steve watching him quietly, his anxiety waiting for Bucky to react plain in the way his shoulders are hunched, in the twist and flick of his wrists and fingers. 

“Steve,” Bucky breathes, looking at the art again and back to him. “Did you draw this from memory?”

Steve nods.

“It’s… _you’re_ -” He splutters, unable to even form words at that. While Steve might have a crazy good memory, whether he was born with it or if it’s a side effect of the serum, the fact that he’d even put in the work to make this fucking masterpiece. It’s bigger than anything he has words for. “ _So_ good.”

That gets a smile to break through Steve’s nervous expression. He ducks his head, blushing. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Christ,” he sets the frame aside and then leans across the couch to hand Estelle to Steve. “This makes everything I managed to come up with to give you seem so pale in comparison.”

“I don’t need anything, Buck. It’s enough that I don’t have to spend another Christmas alone.”

And Bucky’s gonna do his damned best to make sure Steve isn’t ever alone for Christmas again because that makes his heart hurt. “Listen.” He shifts, taking a deep breath. “I know you don’t think of it that way, but I thought and thought trying to come up with something that could ever equal up to how much you’ve done for me and Stellie and there’s nothing. Because you’ve changed both of our lives and I don’t think I could do this without you. You’re my friend and you’re… so much more than her babysitter. So I wanted to ask you to be Estelle’s godfather and if anything should happen to me- like if the flu had been just a little worse- I want to name you as her guardian. If that’s something you want too.”

Steve blinks at him, swallowing hard. He looks down at Estelle, who’s sucking on her thumb but when she catches Steve’s eye, she releases it to grin and coo at him. When he looks back up at Bucky, his eyes are shining, glossy tears masking the joy in them. “Really?” He whispers.

“Really.”

“Yes. Yeah. That’s something I want, of course.” Steve chokes out and lunges across the space between them to hug Bucky with his free arm. It’s the first time they’ve been this close and Bucky tucks his face against Steve’s shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of apples lingering from his shampoo or body wash. Steve’s solid, his hand firm on Bucky’s back, but his voice is wavering. “But nothing’s gonna happen to you, Buck. I won’t let it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had h1n1 in 2009 and i would rate it 0/10 stars and give it an angry review on yelp if i could. the only thing that helped the pressure headache was ice cream. but anyway i went wild with the hurt/comfort opportunities this chapter provided and put as much as the plot will let me at this point anyway i hope u enjoyed pls leave me a comment if u did bc ur feedback is my only source of serotonin and motivation at this point


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most fics (and canon) make nat out to be a bad bitch that doesn't ever show weakness but this is my fic and i do what i want so if i want to make her soft and need her friends then i will!!!

In light of what Bucky had asked of him on Christmas, Steve feels only a little bit of guilt that he’d only lasted a week before he’d gone back to the baby store and bought the entire nursery furniture collection that he’d fallen in love with. The mural is finished and the furniture is assembled and Estelle is actually napping in the crib while he stacks the growing collection of children’s books he’d ordered on the bookshelf. He’s got the entire classic Winnie The Pooh collected works, some Beatrix Potter, Dr. Seuss, The Velveteen Rabbit, and some others. He’s still got a box to unpack when his phone goes off and he reaches for it, not glancing at the caller ID before he answers. “Hello?”

“Steve.” Natasha’s voice is grim, tight enough to relay that she’s stressed even over the line. “There’s a mission. I need you on this one.”

He sits back on his heels, glancing over at Estelle through the crib rails. Of course he’d known his respite couldn’t last and eventually some mission would come along and be big enough to break his carefully built up peace. But he just wasn’t ready for it to be now. There’s a knot in his stomach, a weight that had dropped in his chest the minute he’d heard Nat’s words. “When do we leave?”

“As soon as you can get here.”

“I have Estelle. I’ll have to take her to the tower and drop her off with Bucky.” He’s on his feet, heading for his room. His mission bag was shoved under his bed a couple of months ago and he hasn’t touched it since so when he grasps it by the handles and pulls it out, it sends dust flying everywhere. “What’s the mission?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Pack warm. I’ll meet you at the tower.”

Which really isn’t helpful at all, but he’s used to that. He quickly sorts through his mission bag, switching out some clothes for thicker winter wear and getting the Cap suit from the back of his closet and packing it. He puts on the shield harness because that’s just the easiest way to carry it. Estelle wakes up when he picks her up from the crib but she’s in a good mood at least. He calls Bucky as he’s pulling the car out into the flow of traffic. 

“Is something wrong?” Bucky’s voice is high pitched, a hint of panic. “You never call me while I’m working.”

“Sorry, Buck.” Steve winces. “Estelle is fine, but I have to bring her to you. There’s… there’s a mission I’m being called in on. I don’t know what it is or how long I’ll be gone.”

Bucky is quiet for a long moment, breathing shakily into the phone. “Okay.” He clears his throat. “Let me know when you get here and I’ll come and get her.”

They don’t spend long on the phone and for most of the drive to the tower, Steve is quiet, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. Estelle starts fussing as they’re nearing the tower so he sings quietly to her until he can park the car and get her out. He puts her in the front carrier and shoulders his mission bag and her diaper bag, heading up to the communal floor where Natasha had told him to meet her. Bucky is already there, sitting on one of the couches and anxiously tapping his foot against the floor. 

He jumps up as soon as he sees Steve step out of the elevator, rushing over to him. His face is pale, drawn, and it’s not just the lingering after effects of the flu. “You’re going to be _careful_.” It’s not a question.

“I always am, Buck.” _That’s_ a blatant lie, but now he actually has something he wants to come back for. It matters that he comes back now. “Nothing’s gonna happen to me.” He drops the bags, his hand coming up to cup the side of Bucky’s face. “Promise.”

“Better not,” Bucky licks his lips and steps closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s back. He’s careful not to squish Estelle, caught in the middle, but they’re still close. A unit. It’s a little wrenching, that this is the first mission Steve has ever been on where he had someone to tell him to be careful, to come back home to them. A family. 

He swallows hard against the lump in his throat and when he glances up, Natasha is watching them, a tiny smile on her face. There’s not a single doubt that she’ll grill him about the state of their relationship as soon as they’re on the plane and have briefed on the mission, but he’s too busy soaking in every second of the contact right now to worry about it. In general, Steve doesn’t like people touching him much- he never has. But like with everything else, Bucky and Estelle have slipped right past that wall and burrowed under his skin and he wants them there, wants them close. If he were braver, he’d say what’s on the tip of his tongue, whisper for only Bucky to hear. _If you wanted me to, I’d come home to you_. But he swallows hard and pulls back, carefully lifting Estelle from the carrier. He takes a moment to cuddle her close, laying a kiss on her thick curls. She pushes lightly against his chest with her chubby hands, her head wavering only a little as she leans back against his supporting palm to coo up at him. He kisses her forehead and passes her to Bucky so he can wrestle the baby carrier off. “I’ll try and keep you updated when I can.”

“Yeah, please.” Bucky’s smile is tight, strained at the corners and not meeting his eyes. “Stay safe.”

Steve touches the side of his face lightly again before rubbing his hand over Estelle’s back and stepping back. He leans down and grabs the straps of his mission bag and Natasha is already passing him on the way to the elevator. Before he follows her, he digs his keys out of his pocket and holds them out to Bucky. “Do you wanna keep my car while I’m gone? It’ll be easier getting here with Estelle than taking the subway.”

“I don’t have a parking pass for my apartment,” Bucky shakes his head. “I’ll make the subway work, but thank you for offering.”

He’d rather take a bullet than walk away, but he makes himself say goodbye one more time and follow Nat into the elevator. 

Mercifully, she at least waits until they’re in her little sports car heading for SHIELD’s hangar to smirk at him and say, “Chin up, Steve. It shouldn’t even be _that_ long of a mission.”

“About the mission. Brief me? What are we heading into that you needed to call me in on it.”

Natasha white-knuckles the steering wheel, swerving around the car in front of them. “Over the past two months, the team has been doing recon missions after we received a tip that on something big. As it turns out, the Red Room is attempting to restart and they’re trying their hand at DNA grafting. My DNA and that of the others I was raised with. I don’t know exactly what we’re walking into, the base is pretty isolated and we were only able to observe from a distance. I know there are children but I would expect nothing less from them. I know you’re on a domestic kick right now, but I need you in mission mode. Go into this expecting every single person in that base can and will kill you if given the chance. If we can save them, we will, but don’t expect it. We’re there to get data and blow shit up.”

It’s not that he doesn’t think the mission is important, but… “Is there a reason that my presence is so necessary on this? I mean, it doesn’t seem like an alien invasion world threatening kind of thing.”

She swallows, eyes firmly on the road. “If they get their hands on me and know my trigger words… I need someone there that can survive the damage I might inflict and still be able to subdue me. I’d sit the mission out altogether but.”

“It’s personal.”

“Yeah,” she nods grimly. “And that’s why I need you. Also, moral support?”

He reaches over and squeezes her hand, just a moment. A promise without words that he’ll be there for her. They make it to the hangar in good time and the rest of the team is already there. There are a couple of people that he knows from when he was still leading the team, but a few new people.

“We had to replace you and one of the other guys got demoted. Clint busted his ribs up again so he’s benched.” Natasha says quietly as they’re walking toward the jet. “That’s Calum, he’s kind of new but brilliant with tech. The dark haired woman is Ava, sniper. And this,” she comes to a stop in front of a smiling blonde woman, “is Sharon Carter.”

“Hi,” Sharon holds out her hand. “It’s great to finally meet you. Peggy Carter is my aunt.”

Steve sucks in a breath and shakes her hand, looking more closely at her. There’s a hint of resemblance in the shape of her eyes, in her dimpled cheeks. But mostly in the assured, comfortable way she holds herself. “Hello. I didn’t know there were any Carters still with SHIELD.” Apparently Peggy’s son had been with them for a short while but he’d quit and started a bakery or something. And honestly, more power to him. If the option of quitting cold turkey was an option for Steve… he just might. 

Sharon’s smile falters a little bit. “Well, my mom didn’t want me to have anything to do with it, but Aunt Peggy always supported me. You know what she’s like.”

“Yeah,” he shifts his stance. “Peg is… a force to be reckoned with. It’s an honor to work with you, Agent Carter.” And that seems to be the right thing to say to get the thousand watt smile back on her face. Working with new people is always difficult- never sure if they’re going to treat him like a relic or decide after speaking to him that he’s awkward and that history shaped him into something he can’t live up to. He glances at Natasha and finds her watching Sharon with not-quite-hidden softness. And oh, as soon as she brings up Bucky he’s gonna lord this over her so hard. Two can play this game. 

He suffers through introductions with the other two new team members as they head onto the jet. Calum seems rather like an overly excitable puppy but the benefit with him is that he does all the talking and Steve doesn’t have to say much of anything at all. Ava Starr is the exact opposite, calculated silence and short answers. She seems just about as uncomfortable as he is and their conversation barely passes them exchanging names.

It’s muscle memory coming back, stashing his bag in his locker and grabbing a tablet with the mission details before he joins Nat in the cockpit. He settles into the copilot seat and puts on a headset, scrolling through the notes they have on the base.

She gives him a few minutes before her voice crackles through the speaker. “So… that was a very touching goodbye scene.”

“Natasha.”

“You’re living in a rom-com, Steve. Don’t lie to me, I know you know there’s something there.”

He smirks at her, raising his brows. “If we’re having this conversation, then I get to ask what’s going on with you and Carter. I saw the way you looked at her.”

The only hint of shock on her face is the slight parting of her lips. She narrows her eyes at him. “There’s nothing going on. We’re teammates and friends.”

“There’s nothing going on with me and Bucky either. We’re friends.” He returns his attention to the tablet. “The most that happened is that he said he wants me to be Estelle’s godfather.”

“Did you tell him you’d rather get married?”

“ _Nat._ ”

She rolls her eyes and hits the button that locks the door of the cockpit, no chance that anyone will walk in on or overhear their conversation. “Okay, full disclosure. I’ll tell you the truth if you tell me the truth.” When he grudgingly agrees, she sighs. “Sharon is…. off limits. I have no qualms about fucking coworkers as long as they understand there’s no future. Even if it’s not a one time thing, they know there’s no white picket fence and they don’t get weird about it in the office. But she’s sweet and… and I actually really like her. But I’m not the type of person that gets things like that and she’s the type of person I think who hears wedding bells. And I can’t. So I will continue to like her from a distance and say nothing until I get it out of my system. We only brought her onto the team when you quit so once I get used to being around her more, it’ll go away.” She shoots him a gleeful grin. “Now dish. Full story. Tell me your deepest heart’s desires, Rogers. Lesbian to...?”

“Gay.” He says grudgingly. “I’m gay. There.”

“I’ll admit, I was expecting bisexual. Peggy Carter?”

“Peggy was my friend.” There were very few people in his life that have just _gotten_ him. Accepted who he is and seen through his walls and she’d been one of them. The only person other than Erskine who’d given a shit if he lived through the serum. “The government thought Captain America having a steady girl was good press.”

“Makes sense. So… lesbian to gay solidarity. Tell me all about Bucky. Your secrets are safe with me.”

And funnily enough, after her talking about Sharon, he finds he trusts her enough to tell her. The story unravels from him piece by piece over the next few hours- the way there’s something so comforting about the quiet moments they spend together in the evenings sometimes, how Bucky and Estelle have filled up an empty space and brought… _life_ to his existence. Something to give him real purpose beyond mindless missions. How when Bucky laughs or Estelle smiles at him, it’s like his chest is filling up with bubbles. Of course he wants more than just being Estelle’s godfather, not that he isn’t beyond thrilled with the appointment. He’s dwelled on the comment Bucky had made while feverish- you make a great dad for her, you know- driving himself crazy with the possibilities. Half baked dreams of waking up together for years to come, of raising Estelle. But the truth is, he can’t lose what he’s got and he’s too afraid to push for anything more. 

Natasha sets the plane to autopilot so she can give him her full attention throughout the story and when he finishes, she’s smiling. “You’re in love with him.”

“Maybe a little bit.” But he’ll force it down before it swallows him whole. “I don’t even know if he… I mean, Estelle is… I mean, clearly he likes women.”

“Hey, bisexuality is a thing, Steve. Don’t sound so hopeless,” she smiles slyly, wiggling her eyebrows. “Want me to find out for you?”

“ _No_ , Natasha.” He scowls at her. “If he is… if he ever chooses to tell me, I want that to be when I find out. I want it to be real. Even if I have to torture myself with the not knowing in the meantime.” And he will over-examine every interaction they have, frustrated with his lack of being able to tell what’s normal friendship behavior and what steps over the line. And Bucky doesn’t really seem to have any other friends, so maybe he doesn’t know where the line is either. Maybe that will make Steve think things mean more than they do. He’s better off just being content with what he has. 

“Well. He’s worried about you going on this mission. That’s a good sign.” She sits upright, having shifted over the course of their conversation to a sideways position, one of her legs swung over the armrest. “Listen, if I can’t have the girl, at the very least, we’re gonna make sure you get the boy. And the baby.”

***

Even with a jet faster than the average aircraft, the flight to Russia takes a considerable amount of time. They land near a safe house about ten miles from the base they’re set to take out and although it’s only afternoon, the sun is gone and the skies are dark. Steve isn’t faint hearted- he’d spent weeks in the alps in winter during the war and had survived seventy years frozen. The cold isn’t going to kill him, but the sprint from the plane to the house is brutal. He’s underdressed at best, not bothering to put on thermal wear before leaving the plane. They pretty much crash, getting sleep in before they head for the base. 

In the morning- still dark out- he explores a little more. The house is small, cramped and dusty. The yellow light from the lanterns doesn’t do much, casting everyone’s faces in shadows as they gather around the old wooden table in the main room. He’d spent most of the flight memorizing all the information they have and forming a plan. With everyone looking to him now- even the new people- he lays it out. “Alright. We don’t know much of the building’s layout so we won’t get far before they know we’re here. So we work quiet and we work fast.” 

They disperse to change and gear up and Steve forgoes his Cap suit for a more stealth friendly thermal one. It’s a little tight, meant for someone else, but he makes it work and secures his shield on his back. Guns aren’t his area of expertise so he only takes one and opts to arm himself with a selection of knives for close combat. He debates calling Bucky but it’s the middle of the night in New York and he’s already losing enough sleep with Estelle. So he puts his phone back in his bag and takes a deep breath, shutting everything out but the mission. 

Bitter cold, the dark conceals them as they trek toward the base. It’s an old mansion behind an iron gate, stone walled and quiet. Steve identifies a single guard by the front door and Ava takes him out from her perch. No alarms are raised and when they sweep the back too, they find only one more guard. The isolation of the base and the brutal winter probably has them relaxed, unexpectant of any problems. There’s a basement entrance in the back and Steve, Natasha, Sharon, and Calum quietly slip inside. The rest of the team will wait until given the signal to come in for backup if needed.

The hallway is lit by a single flickering light bulb, steel doors lined on either side, the quiet murmur of voices ahead. Steve’s got his shield at the ready and the rest of the team have guns drawn as they slip quietly deeper into the house. He peeks into one of the rooms and recoils. Inside is a single, blanketless cot, and a child handcuffed to a metal rail above her head. She’s curled up in a tiny ball, shivering in the dark, no older than five. No way. No _way_ is he leaving them in here.

Natasha glares at him when he glances at her, shaking her head sharply. She’s pale in the dim light, but her hands are steady. “Later,” she mouths. “Mission first.”

He hates it, wants to get them out _right now_ , but they’re relatively safe in their fucking cells while the team sweeps the building. The hallway twists around and opens up into a well lit laboratory, all kinds of medical supplies scattered around. There’s a bank of computers on the far wall and two men in white coats arguing in hushed voices. They’re standing over a metal table and Steve can’t quite see what’s on it until one of them shifts. 

Steve is swift and silent as he crosses the room and plunges his knives into the lungs of both men before the others can even react. They go down choking and unable to sound an alarm. It’s too late. The toddler strapped to the gurney is already grey, far beyond saving. There’s an IV still in her arm, blood drying under her nose. He shudders and reaches out, gently closing her unseeing eyes. Bombed out cities and camps and rotting corpses behind his eyes, living in his head. For a moment the war is living, vivid and tangible around him, but he forces it back. Turns to the others. Sharon and Calum are staring at the baby in horror but Nat is stone faced, flipping through notes written in messy Cyrillic. 

“Sharon, you keep guard in here. Calum, copy everything on their computers to our drive.” Natasha tosses the notes back where she found them, turning to Steve. “You and I are going upstairs.”

He smiles at her, cold and promising. “After you.” 

They don’t run into anyone until they get to a kitchen, where a group of men are sitting around a table laughing. Like they haven’t got kids locked up and tortured underneath them. Natasha saunters right into the room and shoots one in the forehead, another in the chest. And all hell breaks loose. Steve dodges a punch, bashes the guy’s face in with his fist. He grabs the boiling kettle off the stove and flings the water at the man sneaking up on Natasha. She’s occupied with the last man, garrote string around his neck. He leaves her to it, silencing the screams of the burned man with the edge of his shield. There’s no time for stealth left. They’ll have alerted everyone in the building by now. 

He heads for the foyer, Nat right behind him. About ten guards have come down the stairs and he doesn’t get his shield up in time to avoid the bullet that slams into his shoulder. He stumbles back a step and Natasha’s shot whizzes past him, taking out the guy who’d fired. 

“They’re all yours,” she says and sprints for the stairs. 

He grits his teeth, ignoring the warm blood soaking the shoulder of his suit. The bullet is still in there, but that’s something for him to worry about in the future. Throwing his shield at one guy, he uses one of the marble pillars in the hall to swing himself around and kick a second clear across the room. Catches his shield as it comes back. One of them grabs a decorative sword off the wall and lunges toward him with it. 

“I don’t think so.” He parries the blow and rips the sword out of the guy’s hand. It slices cleanly through the abdomen of his adversary. Guts spill slippery across the floor, the stench awful and familiar all at once. Turning on his heel, he jabs the point into the throat of the guy coming at him. Someone jumps on his back. A knife plunged into his bicep. The sword falls from his fingers as he sucks in a breath. He grabs the guy and flings him over his shoulder, breaking his neck. Ears ringing, he turns. The remaining men go down easily, not armed or trained very well. 

A long time ago he had regretted taking lives. Now all he sees is the body on the table and he doesn’t care. They all deserve to go.

He reaches up and takes the knife out of his arm, grunting through his gritted teeth. No time to slow down now. He takes the stairs three at a time. Under different circumstances, he’d love to admire the old architecture, but there’s no beauty to it now. Not with what it’s been turned into. The second floor is quiet but he follows the soft voices to a shadowy office.

Natasha has her gun trained on the smug woman behind the desk. Even in the dark, she’s pale, looking younger than Steve has ever seen her. She doesn’t even glance at him as he comes to stand beside her. “I already said it before. Don’t make me say it again. There will _never_ be another Red Room.”

“You think I didn’t expect you to come?” The woman sneers, looking for all the world relaxed in her cushy chair, one hand on her computer mouse. “You think you _really_ killed every person connected to your past? I’m not the only one who remembers how to control you. You were a fool to come here, Natalia. And in the end you will comply.”

“Seems like you have another child army downstairs,” Nat raises her brows. “What could you possibly need me for?”

“You know as well as I do that human cloning is years away. The children will never survive. Russia wants you back, Black Widow.”

“Well, that’s just too bad.”

“Really? Sput-”

Natasha’s bullet sinks home in the woman’s forehead. 

“I had hoped,” she walks toward the desk, signaling for the rest of the team to move in and start placing the C-4, “it wouldn’t come to that. I guess any information we get will come from Calum. Oh shit.”

“What? Backup? Self destruct?” He doesn’t like how she’s looking at the computer screen over the shoulder of the woman’s dead body. 

“No… it’s. Steve, I think you should go out the front door instead of the basement.”

“We have to get the kids out, Nat.” Even if they’re trained to fight back, they won’t be able to inflict that much damage on him, even with his injuries. And he has no clue what will happen once they get them out- no doubt the American government will want to stick them in another cell and do exactly the same thing to them that’s happening now. After all, they’re already halfway to being perfect soldiers anyway. Maybe he could keep one or two… once he’s sure they won’t bring harm to Estelle-

“They’re dead, Steve. All of them.” Natasha says softly, turning the monitor around for him to see. 

There, plain on the screen, **Cyanide implant release in all subjects confirmed.**

He swallows hard. Steps back. 

“When we were too young for them to give us a tooth capsule, we had an implant that they could control the release of. For cases like this. Better to die than be taken alive by the enemy. I’m sorry.” She blinks, tears sparkling in her eyes when she meets his gaze. “I shouldn’t have called you in on this one.”

“When you need me, I’ll be there for you. No matter the mission.” He crosses the room and wraps her up in a hug, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder. “You’re my friend.” 

She’s trembling minutely and that alone is testament to the fact that, for some inexplicable reason, she trusts him. A woman like her doesn’t show weakness to just anybody. And he’s glad that he can be here for her. But that doesn’t make it any easier as he goes into each cell and closes the eyes of each girl- six of them, between the ages of five and eleven. The ground is frozen solid, no hope of burying them. It’s kinder to let their bodies be consumed by the blast when they blow the building than to leave them for animals. He throws up behind a tree when the explosions go off, hands and knees in the snow. 

“Are you okay?” Sharon asks, tentatively stepping closer to him. She catches sight of his shoulder when he shifts around to look at her and grimaces. “Bullet still in there?”

He nods, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. 

“I’m a nurse. When we get back to the safehouse, I’ll patch you up.”

The team treks through the snow, everyone quiet except Calum, who’s debriefing Natasha on the files he’d gotten from the computers. Steve doesn’t speak and nobody asks him to, most of them used to his post mission silence. He’s fine so long as the adrenaline of the fight is keeping him going, pushing him forward, but as soon as the battle is over and he starts dropping, it’s like his mouth is glued shut. Even when he wants to say something, the words just won’t come out. It’s hard for him to sit still as Sharon pulls the bullet from his shoulder in the bathroom of the house, not just from the pain. He’s fidgety, pinky finger flicking against his thumb, toes tapping on the tiled floor. 

As soon as she’s done with him, he retreats to the bedroom he’d slept in the night before. He sits in the closet, knees drawn to his chest as he rocks back and forth in the dark. Even after all this time, he can barely comprehend how truly evil people can become. Fucking christ, they were little kids. Chained up, freezing and starved and killed rather than let someone give them a chance at living. He can’t keep doing this. It’s not the deaths of the bad guys that keeps him awake at night; it’s the innocent people caught in the middle. 

The baby on the table had looked nothing like Estelle, straight blonde hair where Estelle’s is dark, thick and curly, pale skin where Estelle’s is brown. And still, when he manages to fall asleep, curled on the floor, he sees her there. Lips blue and eyes unseeing and he jerks into wakefulness with a gasp. Clammy with sweat all over and there’s no way he’s going back to sleep now. He showers, scrubbing down roughly in the cold water and debates on calling Bucky when he gets out. But his jaw is still wired shut against his will and the best he can come up with is a text. 

**To Bucky: Alive, minor injuries, should be back soon.**

***

Steve isn’t the only one suffering the post mission disquiet. Natasha spends most of the flight back curled against Sharon’s side. They make a cute picture, Sharon gravely talking to her in a low enough voice that Steve can’t even make the words out from his bunk, right across from them. He can’t stay asleep, too much death in his head. It was easier to compartmentalize in the war, when he didn’t have a child at home. Every time he drifts off he sees her there, a new vision to join the host of nightmares that already taunt him. He throws up twice before they make it back to New York. 

The sky is painted brilliant pink and orange, the sun sinking below the horizon while the moon awakens. He dumps his bag and shield in Natasha’s trunk and takes the passenger seat. She squeezes his hand and starts the car. 

“Where do you want me to drop you?”

He hesitates, fidgeting in his seat. It’s Friday night. He should just go home and be patient. Monday morning will come soon enough and he’ll get to see them. But he wants. Oh, he wants. Even if he only stays for a few minutes, maybe if he assures himself that his baby is safe, that she’s healthy and happy and loved. Maybe he’ll be able to sleep. “Can you. Um-”

“He’s in Crown Heights, right?”

Steve nods and gives her the address. Not that she probably needs it. The ride passes in a blur but before he gets out of the car he does ask, “Do you want me to stay with you?”

“I’m going to Clint’s,” she smiles, wanly, “go be with your family, Steve.”

He nods, sucking his lower lip between his teeth. No idea what he’s going to say to Bucky, he shoulders his mission bag and lets himself into the building. There’s a couple of teen boys sharing a beer bottle on the stairs and when they spot him, the one taking a drink chokes. Steve forces himself to nod at them as he steps back but he takes the five flights as quickly as possible. Bucky answers the door on his third knock. 

“Steve?” His eyes are wide, tracking over him as he steps back, opening the door wider. 

“Sorry,” he says, dropping his bag just inside the door when Bucky shuts it behind him. “Sorry, I probably should have just gone home but I-” his words catch in the back of his throat and he shakes his head. What he wants is to stumble forward, wants to tuck his face into Bucky’s neck and breathe him in and maybe a little of the energy under his skin will settle but he can’t make himself move. His feet are locked in place and so is his jaw and he’s just. Stuck. Hoping Bucky will see through him.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, softly. He steps forward, leaning up on tiptoe to see eye to eye. His hands come up to cup Steve’s jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “You’ll always have a place here. Don’t apologize.”

He shudders, closing his eyes and forcing them open again just as quick. God, why can’t he _stop seeing it_? 

“What’d they do to you?” Bucky murmurs, and finally, _finally_ wraps his arms tight around his shoulders. 

All the breath rushes out of Steve and he crumples. Bucky’s more solid than he looks, taking Steve’s weight and only stumbling a little. The static under Steve’s skin sparks at every point of contact and it hurts a little. There’s a part of him that doesn’t want anything to touch him, too much input from all around and it’s loud. He can feel the calluses on Bucky’s palm against the back of his neck, can feel the rub of every seam in his clothing, can feel where the ends of his bangs brush feather light against his forehead. A part of him wants to peel his skin off so he never has to feel anything again. “Squeeze tighter,” he says, against Bucky’s shoulder. It helps, when Bucky’s arms tighten around him, secure. But his breath is still coming in short gasps and he can’t close his eyes, can’t close them, can’t close them. “Where. Where’s Estelle?” 

Bucky leans back, just far enough to look at him. One of his hands comes up to smooth Steve’s bangs off his forehead. “She’s in the bouncer.” He nods towards the couch, at the little baby seat in front of it. Estelle is strapped in it, waving her fists at the toys dangling above her. 

Steve pulls out of Bucky’s hold so he can stumble over to her, sinking to his knees. His hands shake as he fumbles with the tiny buckles. She lights up, smiling wide when she sees him and a sob lodges in his throat. “You’re okay,” he whispers, tucking her against his chest. “You’re okay.” Again, and again, and again, he repeats the words, rocking her back and forth right there on the floor. 

Bucky sits near him, one hand on Steve’s ankle, but he’s quiet as he watches them. It’s not until she’s asleep and Steve finally slumps back against the side of the couch that he asks. Not about what happened on the mission and not if Steve is okay, when he’s clearly not. He looks Steve in the eye and he says, “What can I do to help?”

“Can I just.” Steve swallows and his throat hurts. Too much hurt lodged there, too much relief. “Can I just stay tonight?”

“I only have one bed.”

“I can sleep on the floor.” He always does. There hasn’t been a single night that he’s been able to fall asleep on a real bed since he woke up from the ice. It doesn’t bother him anymore and even if it did, tonight he’s feeling too much on the inside. Even the sense that everything was just _too much_ earlier has faded. He can barely feel anything physical at all now. 

Bucky purses his lips. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, Steve. We’ll fit, it’ll just be a little tight. C’mon, get up on the couch. When was the last time you ate?”

“I dunno.” He lets Bucky tug him up from the floor and sinks onto the couch. “Protein bar before the mission, maybe.” He hadn’t noticed; it’s not that he really gets _hungry_ , per se. The serum requires a lot of calories but there have been times where there just isn’t enough food to go around or there’s a mission and he forgets to stop and eat. His stomach doesn’t growl, doesn’t clench with hunger. He just feels drained, the serum pulling on his energy. 

“Christ, okay.” Bucky stands just close enough to say he’s between Steve’s knees, in that gray area of keeping his distance and being in his space all at once. He combs Steve’s floppy bangs off his forehead again, gentle fingers through his hair. “You know I’m shit at cooking. Either we order something in and it’ll be like half an hour at least or. I think I have some Campbells chicken soup? Finest microwave cuisine I can offer you.”

Despite everything, it brings a smile to Steve’s face. “You’re such a disaster, Bucky.”

“It’s my only personality trait at this point,” Bucky agrees, smiling back. “What’ll it be? Can you even stay awake long enough for takeout to get here?”

“Soup’s fine.”

Bucky nods, touching his shoulder lightly before he steps back, heading for the tiny kitchen. As Steve twists around to watch him, he pulls a can of soup from one of the cabinets and dumps it into a bowl. When the microwave goes off, he sprinkles salt and pepper into it and then brings it and a spoon back over to Steve, sitting next to him. “Want me to take her?” He nods at Estelle. 

Shaking his head, Steve shifts her so she’s laying in his lap and then takes the bowl. He eats all the meat and noodles first and then drinks the broth. It’s bland, but he doesn’t really care. When he finishes, Bucky takes it back and puts it in the sink. 

“Lets go to bed,” he says, holding one hand out to Steve. The bedroom is lit by a small lamp in the corner, enough that Steve can see the mattress on the floor and the bassinet next to it. He can’t bring himself to lay Estelle in it though and Bucky doesn’t ask him to, pointing at the mattress. “Sit down.”

Steve sits.

Bucky kneels in front of him, his fingers deftly untying the laces on Steve’s shoes. He’s dressed in sweats, something comfortable he’d put on for the plane ride at least. When the shoes are set aside, Bucky pushes him back against the pillow. “You don’t have to talk about it- whatever happened,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, “but if you decide you want to. I’m here. Are you hurt?”

The last thing he wants is to tell Bucky about the mission. Bad enough that it’s living in his head, awful and fresh in a way that the war isn’t so much anymore. There’s no need to put those images in Bucky’s mind, even if hearing it isn’t the same as seeing it in person. He touches his right shoulder lightly, wincing. The knife wound hadn’t been that deep, but the bullet hole has yet to heal. “Shot here.”

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes. “Do you- I mean. Can I get you any pain killers?”

“They don’t work for me,” Steve tries to smile but it’s probably more of a grimace and he can’t force anything better. Not tonight. “It’s okay, Bucky.”

“No, it isn’t.” But there’s nothing that Bucky can do and it’s clear he knows it because he sighs and stands up, crossing the small room to turn out the light. It’s not so dark, the city lights coming through the window, putting Bucky in silhouette as he comes back to the bed, crawling onto the mattress. The springs squeak loudly with the added weight- it truly is an awful mattress. So uncomfortable that Steve might even be able to sleep on it, provided the nightmares don’t keep him up. Bucky rolls onto his side, facing Steve and putting his hand out to rest on Estelle’s back. He’s pressed chest to thigh against Steve’s side and if it weren’t for the wall that Steve’s side of the mattress is against, they’d both probably be falling off the sides. As it is, Bucky’s on the very edge but he isn’t complaining. “Go to sleep, Steve. We’ll still be here when you wake up. If we get lucky, she’ll sleep through the night.”

Steve hesitates and then covers Bucky’s hand with his own. Bucky immediately moves and for a second, his heart stops beating, terrified. But then Bucky tangles their fingers together so both of their palms are pressed to Estelle’s back, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing. With a sigh, Bucky closes his eyes. 

“Goodnight,” Steve whispers. And in the not quite darkness, on the world’s lumpiest mattress, with Bucky pressed against him and Estelle laying over his heart, he can sleep.

***

The sun is barely rising when Estelle’s squirming wakes him up. Steve doesn’t move at first, not sure how he’s supposed to get up. Bucky, it seems, is the type to latch onto anyone else in his bed- his leg is slung over Steve’s thighs and he’s drooling against Steve’s bicep, arm over Estelle’s back. Steve never wants to leave this moment. But Estelle is stirring and she’s probably hungry and if he can get up to feed her without waking Bucky, it’s probably for the better. So carefully, slowly, he extracts himself, scooting down the mattress until he can stand from the bottom. He drapes the blankets back over Bucky’s body, shivering in spite of himself. The room is fucking _freezing_. He grabs the baby quilt out of Estelle’s bassinet to wrap her in and heads out into the main room.

He’s barely spent any time in Bucky’s apartment, so it takes him a few minutes to find where the formula and bottles are. He has to heat the water in the microwave, pulling the door open just before it starts beeping and testing the temperature against his wrist. Every time he’s been in the place before, it had been later in the day and dimly lit. Now, with the light spilling through the windows- just about the only thing the apartment has going for it is the windows facing the sunrise- he can see just how dismal it really is. It’s not that Bucky doesn’t keep it clean, he does, as well as can be expected of a single parent with a newborn and a full time job. But the paint is peeling right off the wall, the floor gives underneath his feet in several places, there’s a mouse trap in the corner, and when he tries to get the radiator to come on, nothing happens. The windows are drafty and it’s already a bitterly cold day. When he checks the weather on his phone, the temperature is only gonna keep dropping. 

Estelle starts crying when he changes her diaper, as quick as he can, trying to get her wrapped up in her blanket again as soon as possible. “Shh,” he kisses her nose and snaps up her little fleece sleeper. “I know you’re cold, baby, I’m sorry.” 

“Damn, is the radiator being a bitch again?”

Steve turns as he picks Estelle up, draping the blanket around her. Bucky is standing in the doorway to the bedroom, his hair sticking up all over the place and the comforter wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. “I tried to get it to come on but nothing happened.”

“Mm,” Bucky rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “It does that sometimes. Tried to repair it but it really just needs to be replaced. Landlord won’t do shit though, because it still works sometimes.” He wanders over to the kitchen and turns on every burner on the stove before he starts fiddling with the coffee pot.

“Is that how you heat the apartment when the radiator won’t come on?” He points at the stove. 

“I tried using a little portable heater but the wiring is… not good. I mean, when I moved in here, the outlets were half hanging out of most of the walls, which I fixed but-”

“You can’t keep staying here.” Steve interrupts. “Jesus, Bucky, I mean I knew it wasn’t a great apartment but this is….”

Bucky stills, hands on the coffee pot. When he speaks, his voice is not quite icy, but it’s guarded in a way that Steve’s never heard it before. “You know, given your past, I’d have thought you’d understand making the best of shitty situations.”

“I _do_ -”

“Yeah, I’m making more money now that I’m with Stark, but I’m still not exactly making bank and I have… I have a kid to think of. She’s gonna need stuff and no, this apartment won’t be good enough once she’s up older and she needs her own room. But if I keep making it work for now, I can keep saving money for the future so I have something to fall back on when I need it instead of living paycheck to paycheck in a better neighborhood.”

“I can smell the gas fumes from the stove, Bucky.” With Steve’s senses enhanced, he can tell it’s in the air even when no one else is able to. And even if it’s not detectable to the average person, that doesn’t mean it isn’t there and doesn’t pose dangers. Especially to a three month old. He shifts his hold on Estelle, patting her back. “I’m not- I’m not trying to make you feel bad or. Or inadequate. I understand, I do. I grew up in a rat infested tenement. And my mom, she did her best and I’m grateful for every moment of it. But a lot of kids in my neighborhood never even made it to their tenth birthday. What happens when Estelle is mobile and you turn your back for two seconds and she breaks her fingers in a mouse trap? Or she pulls up on the stove and gets burned? What happens if you both get carbon monoxide poisoning and you can’t call for help?” He steps closer to Bucky, leaning against the counter next to him. 

“I can’t afford ten thousand dollars a month in rent to get a place in Brooklyn Heights, Steve.”

“You’ve already _got_ a place in Brooklyn Heights.” Steve says, taking a deep breath. When Bucky looks at him, he shrugs, hoping his smile is reassuring. “Last night- you told me I’ll always have a place here. It’s a two way street, you know.”

“What are you saying?” Bucky plants his palms against the countertop. “What, you want me to just move in with you? Just like that?”

“You don’t have to stay forever, if you don’t want to. Just… I don’t like being alone. And you can stay with me and get out of this shithole and I own the apartment already so you don’t have to pay rent. You can keep saving like you are. At least for the winter. Come on, Buck. It’s freezing. Your lips are blue.”

“Well, quit lookin’ at ‘em then,” Bucky grumbles, pulling open the cabinet to get a coffee mug down. He looks over at Steve, sheepishly smiling, like Steve isn’t standing there blushing like a schoolboy. “Sorry. I’m grumpy when I haven’t had caffeine.”

“You’re never this grumpy when you drop Estelle off and I give you coffee.” Steve ducks his head. Now that Bucky has pointed out him looking, it’s like he can’t _stop_ ; his gaze drifting down to Bucky’s mouth every other second.

“That’s because I’ve already had a cup here.” Bucky steps around him to get the creamer out of the fridge, splashing some in his mug. “Do you want some?”

“I’m okay.” Estelle chooses that moment to slap her hand against Steve’s shoulder and he doesn’t quite manage to bite back the gasp as her tiny fist makes contact with his healing wound. 

“Holy shit, your shoulder.” Bucky’s eyes widen and he grabs Estelle’s wrist, guiding her hand away from the injury. “What the hell are you doing standing in here? Go sit down, you literally have a bullet wound.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. It’ll probably be gone by tonight.”

“If you don’t go sit down right now, I’m not even considering moving in with you.” Jaw tight, Bucky stares at him.

Steve sits on the couch.

“I’m gonna go get the first aid kit,” Bucky sets his coffee down and heads for the bathroom door. “Your bandage probably needs changing.” It means Steve has to peel his sweatshirt and t-shirt off to give Bucky access to his shoulder. He shivers at the rush of cold air, goosebumps breaking out over every inch of his exposed skin. Bucky’s gaze tracks over him, lingering only a moment before his attention goes right to the gauze covering the wound. “Oh, Steve,” he says when he peels it away, revealing the angry red pucker of healing flesh. 

“I’ve had worse.” The urge to deflect, to reassure that he’s fine is unavoidable. “Really, it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s mostly healed.”

“I can’t believe you told me you only had minor injuries. You were fucking _shot_.” The alcohol pad stings as Bucky swipes it over the wound.

“Yes, I know. I was there. And I took down ten guys and then hiked ten miles through the Russian forest before we got the bullet out. This is what I’m-” He bites his lip and shakes his head. 

“It’s what you’re…?”

“What I’m built for. This is what they made me for. To get shot and keep going.”

Bucky’s hands are jerky as he squeezes antibiotic ointment onto a square of gauze but they’re achingly gentle when he presses it to Steve’s shoulder. “They didn’t _make_ you. You are _still_ Steve Rogers.” He tapes the bandage in place again and holds out Steve’s shirt. “And just because you _can_ get shot and keep going doesn’t mean you should have to.”

The words are casual, like they aren’t hitting something deep in Steve. Like Bucky isn’t the first person since he got the serum to look at him and see only Steve Rogers. Pulling on his shirts, he swallows hard against the lump in the back of his throat. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“It’s my turn to take care of you,” Bucky ruffles his hair, already messed up from shoving his head through the collar of his shirt. “And… I really hate this apartment. So if you’re sure….”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ll stay with you. But just for the winter. I don’t wanna impose.”

There’s so many things that Steve could say- you’ll never impose, I want you around always. But he just smiles and nods. “I’ll go pick up my car from the tower. You don’t have that much stuff so we should be able to get most of it moved today.” Either way, even if they don’t get all of it today, he’s not leaving them to spend another night here without heat. He lifts Estelle from his lap so he can hand her to Bucky. “Thank you. For last night.” It’s not magically out of his head now, but it has helped, assuring himself that Estelle is unharmed. He’d known she was fine, of course, but the trouble was his brain wouldn’t believe it until he’d confirmed it for himself. 

“Yeah, ‘course.” Bucky grabs Estelle’s waving hand, letting her hold his thumb in her fist. “And what I said stands. If you want to talk about it-”

“No. You don’t need that in your head too.” He has a list of phone numbers somewhere- psychiatrists and the like- that had been given to him when SHIELD had released him. If he decides he wants to talk, he’ll talk to someone whose job is to listen to things like that. “But I appreciate the offer anyway.”

For right now, he just wants to focus on getting Bucky and Estelle somewhere safe and warm. Everything else can come later. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided i didn't want hydra to be a part of this fic because honestly its so overdone in shrunkyclunks to have hydra come in and kidnap bucky or whatever and i just don't want to have that energy so in this universe hydra DID die with the red skull. i also didn't wanna do something like aliens or robots so thats why i brought the red room into it. let natasha blow those bitches up if she wants to!!!! also i did like negative research into russia/new york time differences so if ur an expert in them and it doesn't add up just smile and nod because i wanted steve to get back to new york in the evening for my There Was Only One Bed agenda but i cannot and will not do math. 
> 
> should i have made bucky put more thought into moving in with steve? probably! but this is a romantic comedy and nothing makes sense and yet somehow everything still works. 
> 
> steve fighting with a sword rights!!! society has progressed to the point of needing more of steve fighting with a sword!!!
> 
> natsharon rights!!!!!!!!!!!!!! more natsharon!!!!!!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU READ i'm sure you're aware of what has been going on. please please please sign the petitions and donate to the gofundme for george floyd and the minnesota freedom fund. i'll link some sources below. please remember that even when things calm down, this isn't over. we all have a responsibility to continue spreading awareness and working to change the racist system that we live under. there is no neutral stance. if you are silent, you are choosing the side of the oppressor. ACAB!!! especially whatever cop you're related to. 
> 
> [George Floyd memorial fund](https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet)
> 
> [arrest and charge the 4 police officers immediately](https://www.justiceforbigfloyd.com/)
> 
> [stand with breonna taylor](https://go.theactionpac.com/sign/stand-with-breonna?akid=s170226..yJRJu_)
> 
> [if this petition gets 100k signatures in 30 days it will go straight to the white house](https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/justice-george-floyd-0)
> 
> remember to keep using hashtags and spreading these links and others!!!

At this point, Bucky is just setting himself up for a broken heart and he can’t seem to fucking stop. He stands in Steve’s living room, surrounded by his meager possessions as the sun sinks into the sea somewhere and the stars wake up and he thinks, _this is home_. For now at least. He’s somehow got a shade of the life he’s been daydreaming about and he has to put it on a timer. Despite his jab at Steve staring at his lips that morning, he doesn’t actually think that Steve would ever be interested in him like that. Oh, but that doesn’t stop Bucky’s ridiculous, hopeless romantic heart from promising his brain that they are, in fact, living inside a rom-com. 

All of the furniture except for what he’d gotten for Estelle he’d left behind because Steve’s place is already well furnished and Bucky’s furniture was… shitty at best. He’d left all the kitchen appliances and dishes too. Granted, it means he’ll have nothing by way of furniture when he moves into a new apartment later, but he’ll deal with that bridge when he comes to it. Estelle is content to sit in the swing and make various noises while he and Steve sort through the stuff. It’s not a huge penthouse or anything, but the apartment is _nice_ and there’s plenty of space in the closet in the master bedroom for all of Bucky’s clothes. For himself, he really only has his clothes, toiletries, and electronics. It just seemed easier to live minimally. When he reads, he reads ebooks and he’s mostly paper free, just some stuff for work in his briefcase. 

Estelle’s stuff on the other hand….

“God,” he looks at the pile. Clothes- not just the ones she’s wearing now but also the ones that she’s outgrown that he hasn’t been able to bring himself to give to the thrift store-, toys, the bouncer and bassinet even though Steve already has a much nicer one, bottles, et cetera, et cetera. The point is, there’s a _lot_. And Steve keeps his apartment pretty much spotless, so Bucky’s system of keeping most of the clothes folded in a basket next to the couch and the toys scattered wherever Estelle throws them isn’t going to work. “Where are we even gonna put all this?”

Steve blushes, brilliant pink, ducking his head. He flicks his pinky finger against his thumb a couple of times. “So… um. I have- had… this extra room. I told you I was painting it, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t just paint it. Um,” he sighs and shakes his head. “God, it’ll be easier to show you than try to explain.” He waits while Bucky gets Estelle out of the swing to lead him down the hall, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob. “Listen, I didn’t go into renovating this room intending it to turn out like this but I got a little carried away so….” 

When he opens the door and Bucky sees, he stops breathing for a second. He steps into the room, bare feet sinking into the giant plush lavender rug. Three of the walls are painted a soft green and the fourth. Oh, the fourth. A massive mural takes up the entire wall, shades of pink, purple and blue blending to make up the lantern scene from Tangled. The castle is a silhouette in the distance, tiny lanterns floating all across the painted sky and reflecting in the water. Instead of painting the boat, Steve had left the space empty and centered the crib against the wall. The furniture all matches- crib, dresser, bookshelf, armoire, and changing table. The rocking chair has been moved in here, situated near the bookshelf. There’s a standing lamp over the chair and another by the crib, the shades painted with the flower from the movie. 

On the floor by the shelf is a box of books yet to be unpacked, and one of the armoire doors is open to reveal clothing hanging on little wooden hangers. Not just things that will fit her now, but when Bucky walks closer he can see the tags still on some of them, ranging up to a size 18-24 months. Things that Bucky hasn’t even thought far enough ahead to consider shopping for, Steve’s already got ready and waiting for Estelle to grow into. It’s not just the clothes, it’s the whole fucking nursery. The baby wipe warmer sitting on top of the dresser, in reach of the changing table, the giant size teddy bear by the crib, the… the fucking massive framed charcoal drawing of Rapunzel’s tower hanging over the dresser. It’s… permanence. It’s Steve saying _I’m sticking around. You’ve got me_. 

Bucky walks up to the crib and gently lays Estelle down on the mattress. The sheets match the walls, soft pale green, and he stands with his hands on the rail for a long moment. Steve did all this, just for her. Thousands and thousands of dollars of furniture and clothing and other things. And when Bucky turns to face him, he’s still standing in the doorway, fidgeting and not quite meeting Bucky’s eye. Like… like he’s afraid Bucky will be angry or something. 

Christ, he never could be. Not over this. This labor of love for Bucky’s daughter, detailed down to every ripple in the water painted on the wall. And Bucky loves him for it, for how much he loves Estelle and cares about Bucky by association. For the way he came home to Bucky after a mission and let _Bucky_ tend to his wounds. For the way he’d opened his home and his life and his heart to the both of them. Yeah, chances are likely that it will lead to Bucky picking up the pieces of his heart, foolish for his inability to keep his feelings in check. But he’ll take that risk. “ _Steve_. Did you do all of this yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.” He steps over to the bookshelf, stooping low to run his fingers across the book spines. They’re not even regular copies of the books, they’re the fancy kind, hardcover and embossed in golds and silvers with ribbon bookmarks, looking right out of a fairy tale. He picks up one from the box on the floor- Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, illustrated edition- and adds it to the others already on the shelf. “Jesus, I-” If he had just an ounce more nerve, if he hadn’t just up and left his old life, he’d give in to the impulse to just stride across the room and pull Steve into a kiss.

“I know it isn’t my place to have-”

“Hush,” Bucky rolls his eyes and stands, smiling at Steve. “Did you think I’d be upset? Steve, it’s _incredible_. I’m not gonna be one of those parents that gets mad when someone else loves their kid. It’s a good thing.”

That finally brings a tiny smile to Steve’s face and he flushes a little. “Wanna move the rest of her things in here?”

“Of course.” 

Some of the stuff they leave in the living room, like the bouncer. The bassinet goes in the hall closet since there’s already one in Steve’s- their?- bedroom. By the time everything is put away, they’re getting hungry and Bucky makes Steve sit at the island, holding Estelle, despite his protests that his shoulder is pretty much healed. Steve’s freezer is full of prepped meals, casseroles, lasagnas, canning jars of soup and stew, all neatly labeled with the date they were prepared. Bucky grabs one of the lasagnas and squints dubiously at it. “How do I cook this?” The freezer meals he’s used to are highly processed and have microwave directions on the back of the box.

“If you’d trade places with me-”

“No, you’re injured.” Bucky glares at him and sets the dish on the counter. 

“Not _anymore_. And besides, you didn’t make me sit down all day, so what difference does it make now?”

“You’re staying right there. Just tell me how to not burn down the apartment.”

Steve rolls his eyes with a _greatly_ put upon sigh but instructs Bucky step by step as he preheats the oven and covers the top of the lasagna in foil and then slides it onto the rack. “It’s gonna be like an hour and a half before that’s ready, though.” He doesn’t even flinch when Estelle spits up all over the front of his shirt, grabbing a dish towel off the counter to wipe most of it off. He tilts his head toward the living room. “You wanna go look for something to watch or something while I change out of this?”

Bucky sets a timer on his phone and takes Estelle, but when he gets to the living room, he doesn’t bother turning on the TV. He puts Estelle on her tummy on the rug, laying on his stomach facing her. “I’ve really got myself in deep now, baby girl,” he whispers, widening his eyes at her and blowing a raspberry. “What’re we gonna do about that?”

She grins, wide and toothless, pushing herself up on her elbows. 

“That’s what I thought.” He agrees absently, reaching out to push her hair off her forehead. She’d already had a full head of curls when she’d been born and it’s only gotten longer and thicker over the past three and a half months. Pretty soon she’ll either need a trim or he’ll have to figure out how to pull it up into one of those little half buns. Or something. “You’re so pretty. Prettiest baby in the whole world, Stellie.”

“You know, I think every parent probably thinks that,” Steve says as he comes into the room, sketchbook in hand as he sits on the couch. “And maybe I’m biased, but I think that in this case, you’re right.”

Estelle jerks her head around at Steve’s voice, wobbling a little at the sudden motion. When she catches sight of him, she squeals. 

“I was gone like two minutes,” Steve teases, leaning down and reaching his hand out toward her, wiggling his fingers. “Did you miss me that much?”

Estelle grunts, grasping for Steve’s fingers, just out of her reach. She’s half twisted around and Bucky’s heart trips in his chest. “Wait, wait,” he whispers, grabbing his phone from his pocket. He gets it turned onto video, scooting back a little bit to get both Steve and the baby in the frame. And just in time, for scarcely five seconds into recording and Estelle’s wiggling and reaching pays off. She rolls from her stomach to her back and grabs hold of Steve’s hand. 

“Holy shit,” Steve whispers, staring at her. He slides off the couch cushion to lean over her and tickle her belly gently. “You’re growing up, angel.”

“Rolling over wasn’t supposed to happen until four months.” If Bucky wipes his eyes on the cuff of his shirt, well, no one will know because Steve is still staring at Estelle in awe.

“She’s just extra talented.” Steve finally looks over at Bucky, grinning wide. 

All thoughts of watching a movie are abandoned as they spend the entire time the food is cooking trying to coax her into doing it again. Bucky’s a little relieved that she doesn’t; as proud of her as he is, it’s a bittersweet pride. When Steve had said she’s growing up, he was right. There’s no resemblance to the newborn left, even though she’s still small. He can even hold her sitting up in his lap now and she never needs him to support her head unless she’s sleepy. By the time they finish eating, she’s getting cranky, ready to sleep. Bucky takes advantage of the nursery to rock her while he gives her a bottle. Steve is washing the dishes- he’d insisted on cleaning the kitchen since Bucky ‘cooked’- and with the door open, Bucky can hear him singing even over the running water- Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money.

He could get used to this so easily. Evenings spent playing with Estelle and not having to wake her up in the mornings and take her out in the cold to drop her off here. Having someone to talk to and share his life with. Bucky is not really an introvert and not really an extrovert. He likes having lots of friends and he likes spending time alone but he _has_ been lonely. After his parents’ deaths, he’d gone a little off the deep end. He’d only had a few friends in the city, no one he’d been particularly close to and he’d pushed them all away, refusing to hang out anytime they asked. Eventually they’d just stopped inviting him to things. Friends he’d made in college were even worse, so easy to just not respond to messages. They were scattered all over the country, it’s not like they could just come over if he ignored them. When he’d finally decided he wanted to be social again, he’d met Alicia and they’d dated for five months until she’d dumped him for being a ‘downer’ about the approaching one year anniversary of the Chitauri attack. 

After that, he hadn’t bothered trying to make friends with anyone else. 

Steve clears his throat and when Bucky looks over, he’s leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. “She asleep?”

“Out like a light.”

“You gonna have her sleep in here or the bedroom?”

It’s not that Bucky doesn’t love the nursery but…. “I’d rather keep her in the same room as me. You know I’m a hard sleeper, I don’t know that I’d wake up if she cried if she was in another room. But listen, I can take the couch, Steve.” It’s not like it’s not a giant, phenomenal couch. Steve has really fucking comfortable furniture. “You don’t have to give me your bed.”

“I’ve never slept in it. Not once.”

Bucky blinks at him. “Why not?” 

Steve’s brows draw together and he shrugs, his entire focus on the patterns he’s tracing in the rug with his socked foot. “It’s a great mattress, I know. But growing up I had a terrible cot and in the war I slept on the ground, on rocks. As much as I’ve tried, I just can’t seem to convince my body to sleep when I’m actually comfortable. I just… sleep on the floor. It’s not so bad.”

The confession makes Bucky’s heart clench a little, but it does make sense, logically. “But you slept on my mattress last night?” And he knows Steve had slept, because he’d still been awake when he’d started snoring softly. He’d had a terrible time falling asleep, actually, because he’d been half in the floor, precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress and refusing to ask Steve to give him a little more room.

“Buck.” Steve smiles wryly. “Your mattress was terrible.”

“Maybe I _should_ have brought it with me then.” Bucky teases, standing. He’s careful not to jostle Estelle too much, her body heavy against his shoulder. Somehow she gains about fifty pounds in dead weight when she falls asleep. “Alright, I’ll take the bed. But if you decide you want it back, just say. Or even if we share, I don’t mind.” He tries to make the words as casual as he can. “It’s like an acre of mattress space anyway.”

And he’s pretty sure he isn’t imagining the flicker of consideration, of interest that crosses Steve’s face. But all he says is, “Maybe just half an acre.”

***

They settle into something of a routine, helped along by the time that Bucky had spent in Steve’s apartment when he’d been sick. It bothers him, each night when Steve carefully arranges a pallet on the floor in the living room and bids him goodnight, even though he’d said he only ever sleeps on the floor anyway. Every morning by the time Bucky gets up, there’s no sign Steve had ever been sleeping there- everything folded and put away in the hall closet again. Even on his work days, Steve is already wide awake and has breakfast made by the time Bucky’s alarm goes off. 

Friday afternoon finds Bucky puttering around in the lab. They’ve been working on the prosthetics development but the team is still miles away from figuring out the neurolink and he’s finished pretty much everything he needs to do for the day. He’s half heartedly cleaning off his work surface when Tony Stark comes in, dark circles under his eyes and holes in his shirt. Bucky’s had very few run-ins with him over the past two months of working here, but even still he can tell the suave playboy on TV is nothing like the man in person. More often than not, he’s jumped up on caffeine and wild around the edges. Bucky can respect that, though. 

“Barnacle.” Tony leans against Bucky’s workbench, eyeing the Red Bull that Bucky’s half finished with interest. “How’s Cap?”

“ _Steve_ is fine. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Bucky puts a couple of tools in their drawer and pushes the can closer to Tony. He doesn’t really want the rest anyway, not this late in the day. “He’s actually picking me up today, so.” Apparently he’s been doing errands in Manhattan so he’s saving Bucky the time of his commute by swinging by. They’re going to the grocery store too. Bucky’s pretty sure Whole Foods with Steve is gonna be a completely different shopping experience than his usual grocery runs. He has to admit though, since he’s been eating Steve’s cooking instead of his usual fare of processed junk, he does feel healthier. 

“Oh, well, you know. Work.” Tony gulps down the rest of the Red Bull in one go, tossing the can in the general direction of the trash bin and shrugging when it bounces off the edge and clatters on the floor. “Anyway, I wanted to come down and say I’ve been impressed with your work so far so… keep it up. Yeah. Hey, how come you didn’t get your masters?”

“Because aliens attacked and my parents died.” He’d just finished his last final exam the day before the invasion. He’s pretty sure his professors had felt sorry for him when they’d found out and that’s why he’d gotten the grades he had. Not that he isn’t smart, he is. But he’s not a genius prodigy or anything. “And now I have a kid. So.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs and hoists himself up to sit on the edge of the bench. “It’s whatever.” Sure, he’d have liked to go to grad school, but it’s not like he isn’t doing okay for himself without it. Although most of that is down to his association with Steve. It rankles a little, but he’s not stupid enough to turn down a good opportunity just because he only has it through a connection with someone else. 

“Well. If you ever decide you want to go back to school… I know some people. MIT. Colombia. Stanford. USC. You know. We’ll get you there.” He slaps his palm against the surface of the workbench a few times. “Call it… part of the grant to help victims of the attack. Or continuing education from the company. Sorry. About your parents.”

“I already told Steve this but I don’t blame any of you for their deaths.” Bucky sighs and slides his laptop into his bag. “And thank you. For the school offer. But right now I think I just need to focus on what I already have on my plate. If I’m trying to work and go to school at the same time, I wouldn’t have any time left for my daughter.”

“Right. Of course.” Tony shakes his head. “Well. Offer’s still on the table if you change your mind.” He pats Bucky’s shoulder and then wanders back out of the lab. 

Bucky finishes clearing his space just in time for Steve to text saying he’s waiting in the parking garage. He grabs his bag and heads down, hopping in the passenger seat of the car. “Hey.”

“How was your day?” Steve greets, smiling at him as he turns, his hand grasping the back of Bucky’s seat. While his attention is on backing the car out of the parking spot- he doesn’t trust the backup camera, it seems- Bucky’s attention is dragging over the way he steers, underhand grip on the wheel, and the expanse of his chest in Bucky’s peripheral vision. 

He swallows hard. “It was fine. Stark says hi.”

The traffic is awful and Steve’s driving is a little alarming, how he weaves in and out between vehicles, paying no attention to speed limits. But nothing happens other than angry honking, which would happen anyway. It’s New York after all. The grocery store is on the corner of Houston and Bowery and they have to circle the block like three times before they luck into a parking spot. And Bucky has a moment of appreciation for Steve’s parallel parking skills too. 

“You wanna get Estelle out or grab the bags from the back?”

Bucky looks down at his grease stained t-shirt and grimaces. “You get her. I’ll take bags.” Of course he misses her after being at work all day, but he’d rather shower and get into clean clothes before he holds her. 

As soon as they step through the doors, Bucky’s nose wrinkles. “It smells healthy in here, Steve.” He drums his fingers on the handle of the shopping cart. 

“That’s the point.” Steve rolls his eyes, patting Estelle’s back in the carrier he’s got her in. For the sake of Bucky’s mental stability, he’s studiously avoiding noticing how goddamn good Steve looks with a baby carrier on. “I’ve got to pick up some staples but I also wanted to get some produce and fresh meat. Figured we could make stir fry tonight. Sound good?”

“Everything you cook is good,” Bucky grabs a bar of soap off a square display, smells it, and promptly puts it back. “You got a list?”

“In my head.” Steve heads towards the aisles and Bucky follows, content to just push the cart and watch Steve’s ass as he walks. God, he really does have a _fantastic_ ass. Fantastic everything, actually. They end up on an aisle with protein supplements on one side and baby care products on the other. Steve puts an entire case of protein bars in the cart- Bucky’s noticed that he has to have a massive caloric intake to keep up with the serum- and pauses when he sees the baby products. “Hey, do you know when she should start eating?”

“Doctor said anytime between four to six months.” Bucky leans on the cart. He’d asked about it at their last appointment, in December. The prospect of feeding Estelle anything other than formula is both terrifying and exciting. “Not quite yet.”

Steve picks up one of the jars of baby food and glances over the label. “I could make this fresh, better quality and cheaper, too.” He puts it back on the shelf and shrugs. “Something to think about later, I guess.”

They work their way through the store and eventually end in the produce section. Steve picks out the vegetables he wants to cook with and they browse through the fruits, comparing all the different kinds of apples. “It must be crazy.” Bucky says, looking up at Steve across the display of pink lady apples they’re standing on opposite sides of. He grabs one and tosses it from one hand to the other. “I mean, it’s crazy to me. I’ve never even heard of half of these variations. And you….”

“It was, at first.” Steve grabs a produce bag. “But I’ve adjusted and actually,” he reaches across and takes the fruit from Bucky, dropping it in the bag, “I’ve had these and they’re really good. It’s nice to have all this variety.”

Bucky opens his mouth to respond but he’s cut off by someone calling his name.

“Bucky! Bucky Barnes!”

He jerks around at the excited shout, the familiar voice, eyes widening when he sees who it came from. “Holy shit… Aiden?” His ex boyfriend is beaming at him, heading right for him. He looks good, muscled in a lean kind of way and the workout clothes he’s wearing accentuate it.

Aiden grabs him in a hug, squeezing tightly and patting his back a few times. “I’ll admit,” he laughs as he pulls back. “I wondered if I’d run into you now that I’m in the city but I never imagined it would be in a place like this. I mean, you? In a Whole Foods? Miracles really do happen.”

“Ah,” Bucky rubs the back of his neck, looking over at Steve. He’s stopped the cart, watching the two of them curiously, one hand rhythmically patting Estelle’s back in the carrier. “Well, you know. Um. This is Steve. And Estelle, my daughter. Steve, this is-”

“Aiden Scott,” Aiden reaches his hand over the display to shake Steve’s, wide grin plastered on his face. “Bucky’s college boyfriend.”

Bucky freezes. God, he hadn’t wanted Steve to find out about his sexuality like that. It’s not that he’s ashamed of it or that he thinks Steve will hold it against him. Even knowing what time era he’d grown up in, he doesn’t seem the type. But Bucky still would have rather told him himself. 

“Oh.” Steve says, strangled. “Nice to meet you.”

When Bucky chances a look at him, his face is composed but there’s a flush on his cheekbones and he’s studiously examining the apples. “What are you doing in New York?” Bucky asks, because it’s not like he can address the elephant in the room in the middle of the Whole Foods produce section. 

“Oh, work. I was at the LA branch of Stark Industries but I got transferred here.” Aiden brushes his unruly hair off his forehead.

Bucky winces when the apple Steve had been holding hits the ground. Maybe he’d been wrong about Steve’s opinions on sexuality-

“I was gonna look you up once I got settled in, say we should catch up but uh,” Aiden’s gaze flicks to Steve.

“No, we should.” Bucky blurts out. If Steve has a problem with Bucky being attracted to men, then it’s his problem. It’s not that Bucky wants to get back with Aiden- he’s quite hung up on Steve already. But when they’d dated they’d been good together and they’d even parted on good terms, remaining friends until they’d lost contact. It’ll be nice to talk to him again. “I’m actually working for Stark too, so you know. Any time, come up to the R&D department. We’ll grab lunch or something!”

“Oh, really? Awesome. Guess I’ll see you next week then! I’ll let you two get back to your shopping, but it was really great seeing you again, Bucky. I’m glad you’re looking well. Everyone was worried about you after… well, you know.” Aiden hugs him again and waves at Steve before heading off. 

Bucky waits until he’s out of earshot to lick his lips and look up at Steve. “I was gonna tell you… it just. Never came up.” He grabs another apple, twisting the stem. “I know things were very different when you were growing up-”

“I don’t care if you like men, Bucky.” Steve interrupts, exasperation in his voice as he reaches across the display and plucks the apple from Bucky’s hands. “It just caught me by surprise, I guess. He’s very… peppy.”

Bucky snickers, pushing the cart around the display so Steve can put the apples in the basket. “Leave him alone. He’s actually… really great.” He’s relieved in spite of himself, that he hadn’t been wrong about Steve. 

“Well.” Steve swallows, looking down at Estelle. “If you want, my offer from Thanksgiving still stands. If you wanna… you know. Go out on a date, I’ll watch her.”

He wants to grab Steve by the shoulders and shake him a little. Wants to tell him _I’m right here, waiting on you_ , but he won’t. The truth is, the only one he wants to go on a date with is Steve. But if it hadn’t been clear before that that will never happen, it certainly is now. If Steve had any interest in him, he wouldn’t just offer to watch Estelle while Bucky went off to date someone else. “Right. I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

True to his word, Aiden finds Bucky on Tuesday and drags him to a cafe near the tower for lunch. He waits until they’re sitting with their bowls of piping hot soup and bread- it’s a whopping sixteen degrees outside- to bring up anything other than small talk. “So… Captain America, huh?” His brown eyes are sparkling, a teasing smile on his lips. “You’re moving up in the world.”

“I’m not dating him.” Bucky rolls his eyes, ripping a hunk off his garlic bread and dipping it in his bowl. “We’re just… um. Friends. Roommates. For now.” He pops the bread in his mouth, chewing slowly.

“That’s not what Entertainment Weekly says,” Aiden pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a few times before he slides it across the booth table for Bucky to see. “You know, I didn’t even recognize him in person. He seems so much bigger on TV than he is. Not that he’s not massive but. I don’t know. He carries it differently when he isn’t wearing the costume.”

Bucky squints down at the screen, the paparazzi pics taken from a distance and the headline that reads **CAPTAIN AMERICA- THE LGBT DAD WE DIDN’T KNOW WE NEEDED**. “Jesus fucking christ.” There isn’t much to the article, mostly speculation on who Bucky is and how he and Steve met and how long they’ve been together to have _adopted a kid_. A couple of wildly wrong citations from ‘close personal sources’. Which, they don’t have anything else to speculate on, so whatever. But did they really have to include the photo of Bucky _blatantly_ checking out Steve’s ass and biting his lip. Really? All the other images are completely unassuming, normal photographs you might take of random people in the grocery store. But that one…. “That’s it. I’m going to kill myself.”

“Always the dramatics.”

“You don’t understand,” Bucky widens his eyes, grasping Aiden’s wrist across the table. “If he sees these pictures, there’s no way he won’t know I’m into him.”

“I hate to break it to you, Jamie, but unless he’s blind… he already knows.” Aiden pulls his arm away so he can take a big bite of his soup, spluttering a little when it burns his mouth. He’s the only one who had ever called Bucky that- putting a pleasant spin on Bucky’s hated first name. “I don’t think you realize how you look at him.”

Bucky glances back at the picture on the phone. “Like I wanna sink my teeth into his plump, round-”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Aiden kicks him. “Not how you look at his ass, _you ass_. I meant _him_. It’s like there’s no one else around, he’s the only one you can see. Like he hung the moon.”

“Very poetic,” he says drily. 

“I didn’t take that creative writing course for nothing.” Aiden’s silent for a few minutes, absently stirring his soup and taking bites of his bread. “So, aside from Captain America-”

“Steve.”

“Aside from _Steve_... you have a kid now?” 

Bucky pushes Aiden’s phone back across the table and pulls out his own. Not that Aiden had asked to see pictures or anything, but he can’t resist the urge to show her off. And he knows Aiden won’t mind- he’s got a bunch of younger siblings that he dotes on, not the type that hates kids. “Estelle.” He opens his gallery and pulls up the folder that he’s got all his pictures and videos of her in, handing it to him. “She’s… god, three and a half months old now. It’s crazy.”

“What about her mom?” Aiden flips through the photos, smiling. He finds the video of Estelle rolling over for the first time and his brows shoot up. “Come on, Jamie. Don’t tell me you can’t see that he’s into you, too.”

“That’s where you’re wrong because right after we ran into you the other day, he offered to watch Estelle in the evening if I wanted to go on a date with you. So.” Bucky scowls at his soup. “Her mom didn’t want to stick around.” When Aiden asks, he recounts the story leading up to how he ended up a single parent, starting from the alien attack. “I’m really sorry, by the way. For ignoring your messages.” If he could do it over… he’s not sure he’d do it differently because then he wouldn’t have Estelle and he wouldn’t have Steve. But he’s still sorry. He’d forgotten how easy Aiden is to talk to. If no one else, he would have tried to keep from losing contact with him. They’ll never be a couple again- as good as they were together, they could never be anything more than casual, which was why they’d gone back to being just friends in the first place. 

“Don’t apologize, I get it. I should have been a better friend. Come to New York right away instead of trying to set up in Los Angeles only to end up here anyway.” He furrows his brows, jerkily ripping a hunk off his bread. “Fuck, though. Fuck your ex for saying that about the anniversary.”

“Cheers to that.” Bucky lifts his glass of water. “I mean, I got Estelle out of it, so I don’t regret it. But.”

“You think she’ll see those pictures and try to get back into your lives?”

“God, I hope not.” At least he doesn’t have to let her see Estelle, not since she signed all her rights away. “I don’t think she would. Anyway. That’s enough about me. What’s been going on with you over the past two years? Are you seeing anyone?”

“Nah,” Aiden shrugs. “For me it’s mostly been work. I’m trying to help my sister as much as I can with her school tuition since our parents can’t so I’ve just been taking all the hours they’ll give me. That’s why I got this promotion, because of my _shining work ethic_. I did learn to surf, but it’s nice to be back somewhere that actually has winter. I thought I’d be happy to never see snow again but I missed it.” 

“Spoken like a true Michigan boy.”

“Very funny.” Aiden looks down at his soup, smiling wryly. “You know, there was a little part of me that hoped, after all this time, that maybe we could be something again. But….” He trails off and shrugs. “We both know we’d never work. And I think you’ve got something good with Steve and I barely saw the two of you together. I’d like to be friends again, though. Unless… I don’t want to be a wrench between you two since we used to go out.”

“Again, I’m not dating him.” Bucky rolls his eyes and pulls up his contacts on his phone. “Add yourself. Of course we’re friends.”

They chat all the way back to the tower, until Aiden gets out of the elevator on one of the office floors. “Lunch again tomorrow?” He asks, loosening the buttons on his coat.

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “I think it’s supposed to snow though, so I might bring mine instead of going out somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Just my luck really since I’ve barely unpacked anything for my kitchen so far.” Aiden grimaces. “Whatever, I’ll grab a sandwich from the Starbucks downstairs or something if it’s very bad out. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

***

It’s past three am on Saturday night and Bucky is up with Estelle. She’s not crying, she just woke up and won’t fucking _go back to sleep_. Usually he can get her to settle down again pretty easily after feeding her but she’s wide awake and not showing any signs of drowsiness. She’s taken to sucking her thumb and it’s currently lodged in her mouth while she blinks up at him in the lamplight. “You’re a menace,” he tells her softly, “Daddy wants to sleep, Stellie. Don’t you want to sleep?”

She grins around her thumb. 

“Brat.” He kisses her forehead, flopping onto his back next to her and staring up at the ceiling. It’s been two weeks since he’d moved into Steve’s and he’s pretty sure he’s slowly losing his mind. This morning he’d walked into the bedroom to grab his phone from the charger and he’d thought Steve was still showering. Well, he hadn’t been. He’d been pulling on his pants when Bucky’d come into the room and all Bucky had seen was the very top of his ass and the dimples just above it. And his glorious, ridiculously proportioned back. Not that he _really_ knows what Steve looked like before the serum- antique photographs are only good for so much- but he’s convinced himself that Steve’s waist had stayed the same size. God, he’s fucking massive across the shoulders and then he’s got this tiny fucking waist like a Disney fucking princess. He’d backed out of the room immediately, apologizing, but the image is seared into his mind forever. The second he hits the shower tomorrow morning…. Well. It’s the middle of winter, he can’t be taking a cold one. 

He’s definitely going to hell.

He looks over at Estelle again and now she’s abandoned her thumb in favor of flapping her arms around and making a low _aaaaaaa_ noise in the back of her throat. “Go to sl-” his voice breaks on a massive yawn, “-sleep. So _I_ can go to sleep.” She probably wants to play but as much as he loves her, it’s three am and he’s not gonna indulge. 

It takes about half an hour but she finally drifts off, thumb in her mouth. He’s just climbing back into bed after putting her in the bassinet when there’s a _thunk_ from the living room and a low cry. Bucky freezes, halfway under the comforter. He doesn’t move, not at first, but when the cry comes again, he gets up. He keeps one hand on the wall as he heads down the hall, toward the living room. Getting closer, he can hear the heavy breathing, thrashing, and bit off whimpers. “Steve?” He whispers in the dark, hand searching along the wall for the lightswitch. When he flips it on, he can see Steve, tangled up in his pallet behind the couch. He’s asleep, eyes squeezed tightly shut, but there are tear tracks on his cheeks and he’s jerking around. 

His first thought is to rush over, to try to wake him up. But Bucky isn’t stupid. He’s well aware that Steve could kill him as easily as look at him, so much power leashed in the muscles rippling under his skin. And even if he just caught Bucky with a flailing hand, it wouldn’t be pretty. So he slowly walks closer, crouching down just out of Steve’s reach. “Steve.” He says again, louder. “Hey, you’re having a nightmare. Can you try to wake up for me? Steve, it’s Bucky. I need you to wake up. C’mon, Stevie.”

Steve’s eyes snap open, wild. He’s got Bucky flat against the floor before Bucky even registers him moving, straddling his waist, one hand against his collarbone, almost wrapped around his throat. He stares down at Bucky unseeing, chest heaving. 

“Steve,” Bucky whispers, lifting his hand to grasp Steve’s wrist. Keeping his distance evidently hadn’t done any good, but Steve isn’t hurting him. He’s just using his weight to keep Bucky pinned. “You are in New York. It’s February 2014. There’s no war.”

The horror that dawns on Steve’s face is absolute, his face draining of color completely. He pulls his hand away, scrambling off of him. “Bucky- I. I’m so sorry. I- oh god.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Steve. You didn’t hurt me.” Bucky sits up slowly. Under other circumstances, he’d be filing that whole interaction away to dwell on later. But the fact that it was nightmare induced is more than a little sobering. “Hey, _you didn’t hurt me_.” He pulls the collar of his t-shirt down. The skin that had been under Steve’s hand is a little red, but it’s already fading. “Look, it’s not even going to bruise. It didn’t hurt.”

“I could have killed you, Buck.” Steve whispers hoarsely, miserably. He’s trying to shrink in on himself, shoulders curled inwards and knees against his chest. “You don’t understand. I might have killed you and not even known it. I don’t think you realize-”

“That you could break me in half like a toothpick?” Bucky raises his brows, scooting just a little closer. “I know, Steve. That’s why I tried to wake you up by talking to you and staying out of your reach. I counted on the super strength,” he smiles wryly, “I didn’t count on the speed.” 

“It’s not funny,” he swallows and pulls off his shirt, wiping his face on it. Bucky has two seconds to school his features before Steve looks at him again. “If you ever hear me having another nightmare, you let me wake up on my own. I’m serious, Bucky. If I hurt you-” he shakes his head.

Bucky licks his lips and nods, but he leans into Steve’s space, cups his clammy face in his palms. “I don’t like it, but okay. That’s planning for the future though and right now, I just want to know about _right now_. Are you okay?” He traces his thumbs under Steve’s eyes. “You were crying.”

Steve’s lashes are still wet, clumped together. There are tremors running through him, so subtle Bucky hadn’t noticed them until he’d laid his hands on him. “I don’t regret it,” he whispers, looking up at Bucky. Blue eyes shadowed by memories that Bucky can never fully understand, but will always be willing to listen to anyway. “Going to war. Becoming… this. Even with all the bad, I got good things from it too. I’m healthy. I have-” he gently grasps Bucky’s wrists, brows furrowing. “A family. I think.” 

Bucky __aches__. Here’s this man he loves, vulnerable and in pain in the palms of Bucky’s hands, asking if they’re family. He’s drowning, swallowed whole by everything he feels. Every piece of him that wants to lean in and gently- so gently- kiss Steve’s trembling lips. Every unspoken word on the tip of his tongue, leashed by his will to not mess this up. “Family doesn’t have to be blood, Steve. You’ve got me. You’ve got us. Come here,” he drops his hands to Steve’s shoulders, pulls him against Bucky’s chest.

Steve slumps against him, his face tucked in the bend of Bucky’s neck. He’s so warm, heart beating vital and hard in his chest. That night when Steve had shown up at Bucky’s apartment after the mission, he’d noticed how Steve had shook less the tighter Bucky had held him. So he holds tight, fingers digging into Steve’s back. They sit there, wrapped up in each other, long past when Bucky’s knees go numb and the late hour starts to catch up with him again. 

He runs his fingers over the short cropped hair at the nape of Steve’s neck. “Are you tired?” Steve nods once but doesn’t move to pull back. “Come on, then. Let’s go to bed.”

Steve stands when Bucky does but then pauses. “Huh?”

“I hate thinking of you alone in here, on the floor.” Bucky glances at the ruined pallet, then back at Steve. He also doesn’t think the hard wood is helping Steve with the nightmares. If his body feels like he’s still on the front, sleeping on the hard ground, it can’t be doing any good for his quality of sleep. And he’s hoping. Well. Maybe Steve will be able to sleep, if he’s got someone there with him. “Please. I have an idea, just… trust me. Try, for the rest of the night?” He holds out his hand. 

“This is the opposite of you staying far away if I have another nightmare.” Steve frets, flexing and twisting his fingers at his sides. “And Estelle is in there… if I-”

“You won’t, Steve. You can take the side farthest from her, if it makes you feel better. Trust me?”

Steve hesitates and slowly, slowly reaches out and takes Bucky’s hand. “If something goes wrong, this never happens again.”

“You won’t hurt us.” Bucky walks backwards, drawing him down the hall. The fact that Steve had pinned him while still caught up in the nightmare and had still been gentle enough to not injure him at all is assuring of that. “You deserve to be able to rest easy, Steve.” His words are quiet, aware of Estelle sleeping in her bassinet. The last thing he needs is for her to wake up now and start the cycle all over again. Steve keeps looking at him, brows drawn together as Bucky pulls him to the bed. The comforter is already drawn back, easy to slip under, next to Steve. He freezes for a second when he reaches out in the dark, his fingers brushing against Steve’s bare stomach. Right. Shirtless. He probably should have got Steve a shirt from the closet before getting in bed, but it’s too late to backtrack now. Well, technically it’s not, but drawing attention to it now will just make it awkward. “Turn over. Put your back to me.”

“Am I… the little spoon?” Steve sounds a little bewildered but he does as Bucky says. He takes a deep breath, his back brushing against Bucky’s chest. 

“Is that okay?” Bucky hesitates, hand at Steve’s waist but not moving any closer until he has permission. “I thought it might help you sleep. To be close to someone. I know I sleep better when I am.”

“It’s okay.”

Bucky sighs and shuffles closer, sliding his arm fully around Steve’s waist and his chin against his shoulder. They’re pressed together fully now and Steve is so, so warm. It’s like snuggling with a heating blanket and Bucky’s muscles are already going lax. Not once has he ever been in this position in a platonic relationship, so it’s purely muscle memory when the side of his thumb traces back and forth over Steve’s stomach. Gooseflesh erupts under his touch.

“No one’s ever-” Steve breaks off, taking a breath, in time with the rise of Bucky’s chest. “I mean. I’m just so… everyone expects me to be the big spoon. There was never anyone when I was small.” 

That’s just criminal, because Bucky’s been spooning him for less than five minutes and he’s already come to the conclusion that they should do this always. Christ, Steve is a big warm teddy bear in his arms, all pillowy muscles and willing to go wherever Bucky arranges him. He really hopes Steve will be able to sleep, not entirely for selfless reasons. Because this is like offering water to a man dying of thirst. Now that Bucky’s had a taste of it, he’s never going to be happy unless he has it always. “Well, I like holding you.” He digs his chin into Steve’s shoulder lightly. “You’re warm.”

“Bucky, I-” he sucks in a breath and clamps his teeth together so hard that Bucky hears it.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Just. Thank you.” Steve says, soft. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Stevie.” Bucky swallows and closes his eyes. This may be the only night like this he gets, so he’s gotta memorize every minute of it. 

Steve hums, shifting. Getting comfortable. “Stevie. I like that.” His hand covers Bucky’s and squeezes. And Bucky wishes he had it in him to stay awake, to make sure Steve rests, but he’s so tired and he’s already floating in that inbetween state of wakefulness and unconscious. But as he drifts off, he thinks he feels Steve’s breathing deep and even.

In the morning, when the sun filtering through the curtains wakes him later than he usually sleeps, Steve is snoring softly. He shifts, grunting at the heavy weight on him. Sometime in the night, they’d shifted positions and now Bucky is on his back and Steve is sprawled half on top of him. A smile spreads across Bucky’s lips and he turns his head, pressing his cheek against the top of Steve’s head. Mission success. Estelle is still asleep too, when he peeks at her, so he’s completely free to settle back and enjoy the moment. 

The comforter is down around their waists and in the sunlight kissing Steve’s bare back, Bucky can see a faint smattering of freckles over his shoulders. Not even brought out by summer afternoons spent outside. Bucky counts them, maps them out and memorizes them like the constellations in the night sky. 

It’s scary how fast he’s fallen into this. A crush he’d harbored turning into this wellspring of want that’s taking up so much space in his chest. Not just lust but want for _this_. Moments of waking up tangled together. Moments of playing with Estelle on the living room floor. Grocery shopping. Want for _Steve_ to be able to rest like this all the time- comfortable and peaceful. And Bucky has never felt this way about anyone before. Not his first love or his second. Not Aiden and certainly not Alicia. For the first time in his life, even without anything actually happening between them, he’s part of something _more_. A unit. Steve shifts against him and sighs in his sleep, one hand grasping Bucky’s t-shirt loosely. 

Spring will come all too soon and then Bucky will be moving to a new apartment and he’ll still be around Steve, but it won’t be the same. Won’t be like this. So he has to cherish every moment while he’s got it, store the memories away somewhere he’ll come back to again and again. The problem with Steve being so perfect is that Bucky will never be able to find a reason to learn not to love him. Good people exist, sure, somewhere. None of them are good like Steve. Steve, with his heart and soul shining pure gold, burning brilliant. It only makes sense that the sun kisses his skin and haloes his hair. It’s like she’s saying _This is my creation, my magnum opus. He will spread light to everything he touches and make the world look to him like the plants reach for me. Most will be blinded by the brightness and turn away from him. But he will find his moon, just as I have been tempered by mine._

And Bucky? Bucky is looking right at Steve and he isn’t turning away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again my There Was Only One Bed agenda is at work and i cannot be stopped. this chapter was sponsored by my many experiences flirting with hot athletic dudes in the whole foods produce section also i know a lot of ppl dont like ocs but pls dont be mean to aiden bc 1) he's not a big character i just thought bucky needed friends and 2) he's a good guy. 
> 
> also my twitter account got sniped again and they're shutting down all my backups so if you were following me there idk what to tell you. im trying to get a new one but idk if it's gonna work out honestly but if i get one i guess i'll let you know next update :/ in the meantime you can follow my tumblr i guess


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i edging on being repetitive with the scenes here? yes! do i care? absolutely not because this fic is entirely self indulgent and i do what i want! enjoy yourselves! i am!
> 
> per my last chapter notes, i want to remind everyone to continue to sign petitions and donate and educate yourselves and those around you. [this carrd](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/) is being consistently updated with links so please make use of it and share it around.

Steve sits in the rocking chair and stares at his phone, at the number pulled up on the screen. It’s been almost two years since he’d spoken to the man on the other end- the psychologist that SHIELD had made him see upon waking up. He’s been sharing the bed with Bucky for a week now and it’s great, it is. It’s absolutely everything to him; not only is he getting the best sleep he’s had in years, but the closeness, the contact… it sets off sparks through him. Warm and all encompassing. The first night, when Bucky had said _I like holding you_ , Steve had very nearly blurted out everything about how he feels and it’s been on the tip of his tongue every night since. He’s selfish, he’s so selfish; biting back his words and continuing to let Bucky cuddle up to him at night when he’s so fucking terrified of having another nightmare and doing something he won’t be able to take back. This isn’t sustainable. 

He dials the number. 

It takes a few seconds for the call to connect. “Dr. Fray’s office.”

“Uh. Hi.” Steve swallows, looking over at Estelle playing on the rug. He’d put her down on her stomach and she’d flipped over to her back in seconds and is contenting herself with watching him and chewing on a soft toy. She’s been doing that a lot the past few days, chewing on anything she can get in her mouth, including his hand. When he’d run his finger along her bottom gums, he’d felt the tooth about to push through. It isn’t visible yet, but it won’t be long. “I met with Dr. Fray a while ago and I wanted to schedule an appointment?”

He actually really does not want to schedule an appointment. When he’d gone through his sessions post defrosting, it had been torturous. Not a single thing the therapist had said to him helped him in the least. But he can admit that he was angry, unresponsive to anyone back then. Maybe it will be different this time. All he needs is something to stop the nightmares. It’s the future, right? Surely they have something for that. And as much as he hated Dr. Fray, the guy has already been vetted by SHIELD. Steve needs results _now_ , he doesn’t have time to search for someone he likes and get them approved by whichever higher-up approves therapists.

“Can I get your full name, date of birth, and authorization number?”

“Steven Grant Rogers. August 4th, 1918.” He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. As soon as they’d decided to make him Captain America for the USO tour, they’d decided it was more fitting for his birthday to be a month earlier. Steve doesn’t even like the Fourth of July, never has. When he’d been a child the fireworks had been too loud, too _much_. He’d grown out of it somewhat as he’d gotten older, but his mother had said they’d sent him into fits when he’d been very young. “987654320.”

“When would you like to come in, Captain Rogers?”

“Do you have any openings tomorrow?” Since it isn’t an average psychologist office- the guy is on SHIELD’s payroll and his office is at SHIELD headquarters- tomorrow being Saturday shouldn’t make a difference. 

The receptionist hums under her breath. “I can get you in at ten thirty. Would that work for you?”

“That’s fine.”

She doesn’t ask him anything about why he wants to come in, just confirms his contact information and sets the appointment before hanging up. He takes a deep breath, putting his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants. It would be so easy to just not go to the appointment, to keep on as they have been and hoping that his sleep remains dreamless. But he knows it won’t. Eventually the sand in the hourglass _will_ run out and someone will get hurt and he _can’t_ let that happen. So if it means he feels fucking sick, heart pounding, palms sweating, knots in his stomach sick at the prospect of going back to that office, so be it. He’ll suffer through the day and it’ll be over by lunch tomorrow. And if they don’t have anything to give him that will silence his dreams, then he’ll go back to his pallet in the floor. Lonely though it may be.

He gets down on the floor next to Estelle. “You’re really chomping down on that, huh?” The toy is a brightly colored cloth butterfly with rubbery wing tips and something inside that makes it crackle. “Tired of laying down?” He gently prises the butterfly from her hands and waits for her to grab his thumbs to carefully help her sit up. 

Estelle grins up at him, wobbling slightly. The only thing he’s doing is keeping her steady, but she’s holding herself upright on her own once in a sitting position. It’s astonishing how fast she’s growing, how much she’s accomplishing. 

“You’re gonna be running circles around us if I blink,” he tells her. “What am I gonna do then? When you go off to school and it’s just me here again?”

“Maybe you should start thinking about adoption. I heard the process takes a couple of years anyway.”

Steve nearly jumps out of his skin, glaring up at Natasha. “Why do you always _do_ that?” She’s casually leaning against the doorway, ankles crossed. “Can’t you give me warning before you just randomly appear?”

“Where would the fun be in that?” She teases, stepping further into the room and looking around in interest. “Entertainment Weekly wasn’t lying with that headline then. You really went all out here, Steve.”

“What headline?” It had only taken him a few months to figure out that he wanted to avoid gossip articles about his life at all costs. Nat ought to know this- she’s the one who went through and blacklisted all of those magazines and blogs from his phone and laptop. “Do I even want to know what they’re saying about me?”

“Oh, I think you’ll _definitely_ be interested in this one.” Natasha sits down next to him, pulling out her phone as Steve moves Estelle to sit on his lap so he can have a hand free. When she hands him the phone, she’s grinning, wide and wolfish. “I’m not going to say I told you so, but….”

Steve purses his lips at the headline. No doubt SHIELD is having a PR nightmare over it, but he’d flat out refused to have someone manage him when they’d tried to push it after he’d defrosted. All he wants is to fucking live his life as normally as possible.

“Forget the headline,” Natasha urges, leaning against his side. “ _Scroll down._ ”

“This is all bullshit,” he scowls as he reads the article. “I don’t see why-” And then he _does_ see why. “Oh, holy shit.”

“Right!”

Because there, in glorious technicolor, is Bucky staring at Steve’s ass like he wants to eat him alive. Steve holds the phone up out of Estelle’s reach when she leans over and tries to grab it, double tapping the picture to zoom in on Bucky’s face. “Jesus, I-” he swallows hard. There’s definitely something to be said for paparazzi, much as he usually hates them. Here is this irrefutable proof that Bucky at least _looks_ at Steve. Whether he feels anything for him or not. “I wonder if he knows about this article.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Natasha pushes her hair behind her ear. “Also, when were you planning on telling me he lives here now? I thought we were friends, Steven. This is a big development.”

Steve sighs, hitting the power button on the side of the phone and passing it back to her. Much as he hates to say it… “This doesn’t mean anything, Nat. Everybody stares at my ass.” And he’s certainly had his eye caught on a fair few before, admiring what’s right in front of him without it actually meaning anything. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone sound so depressed to say _everybody stares at my ass_ in my entire life.” She rolls her eyes. “For what it’s worth _I_ don’t stare at your ass.”

“You don’t like men.”

“And you are being obtuse. He _likes_ you, Steve. _Talk_ to him.” Natasha pockets her phone.

“What, like how you’re talking to Sharon?” He winces- more in surprise than pain- when Estelle bites down on his thumb hard. 

Nat scowls at him. “That’s different and you know it. But you know what, at least we can acknowledge the existence of feelings there between us even if we aren’t doing anything about it. You two are just hardheaded.”

Steve opens his mouth to deny it but his phone vibrates four times in a row in his pocket. He pulls it out, swallowing hard at the chain of texts.

**From Bucky: hey is it ok w u if i have aiden over for like 30mins after work?? he wants to meet estelle**

**From Bucky: i know u prb dont want random ppl knowing where u live so if not its ok, i can swing by and pick her up and meet him at a coffee shop nearby or something but it's pretty cold out so i dont wanna take her out if i dont have to**

**From Bucky: omg that reads really weird i promise im not trying to guilt trip u into letting me bring him over**

**From Bucky: if it makes any difference tho i swear i trust him he wont tell anyone where u live or ask u creepy questions or anything**

“Who’s Aiden?”

“His ex boyfriend.” Steve taps his fingers against the back of the phone, frowning. “We ran into him at Whole Foods like two weeks ago. Apparently he just moved to the city and he’s working for Stark too. They’ve been _catching up_ and having lunch _every day_.” It’s not that he has anything against the guy personally- he seemed nice enough. It’s just…. 

“Aw, are you _jealous_?” Natasha teases, ruffling his hair. “You know what would clear up whether they’re just catching up or _catching up_? Communication.”

Steve glares at the phone screen even harder. Part of him wants to say absolutely not- not just uncomfortable with the knowledge of their history but also with the idea of a stranger in his home- but if he says yes, he’ll be able to see for himself better how the two of them are acting with each other. Bucky hasn’t said anything about rekindling their past romance but he hasn’t indicated that it’s out of the realm of possibility either. Better to do reconnaissance and see their dynamic himself. 

**To Bucky: Yeah, it’s fine. Is he staying for dinner?**

**From Bucky: nope! thank you :)**

Natasha sighs. “This is gonna go well.”

She stays for a little while, catching him up on where SHIELD has been sending her lately. They’d wanted to move her to be based in DC at the Triskelion, but she’d turned it down. So had Sharon. Which is interesting but Natasha insists it has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the fact that Sharon’s mother is in New York and she doesn’t wanna be too far from her. Natasha eventually heads out, after kissing Steve’s cheek and booping Estelle’s nose. “Talk to him,” she threatens as she walks out the door.

He’s in the living room burping Estelle after a bottle when Bucky’s key turns in the lock and Steve stands as they come into the living room, forcing some approximation of a smile to his face. “Hi, how was your day?”

Bucky groans, dropping his bag against the wall and pulling down his coat zipper. “If I look at another equation, my eyes might fall out.” He shucks the coat off and drops it over the back of the couch, same as he always does- but he always makes sure to put it away whenever he heads down the hallway. “Is that my baby,” he coos when Estelle twists around at his voice, squirming and jumping in Steve’s arms. “C’mere, Stellie.” He takes her from Steve’s hold and squeezes her in a hug, kissing the top of her head before turning to Aiden, who’s still hovering by the door, and beckoning him closer. Despite wanting to hover, Steve returns to his seat. He doesn’t exactly feign disinterest, but he doesn’t make it obvious he’s watching them either. More like he’s just watching Estelle.

Aiden slowly walks across the room, stopping a few feet away from Bucky. When the baby just eyes him, he steps a little closer. He’s wearing a well pressed blue suit, tie loosened around his neck. Whatever department he’s in, it’s definitely not the one that Bucky works for. Bucky’s formal work clothes usually consists of jeans and a t-shirt. “Hi,” he says, soft, holding out one hand and wiggling his fingers. Estelle stares at him, then turns away to bury her face against Bucky’s shoulder. Steve bites back a smile, pressing his lips together instead.

“ _Estelle_ ,” Bucky jostles her a little, “that’s not very friendly of you.” When he meets Aiden’s gaze, his face is fond, exasperated. “She’s not really used to meeting new people. Give her a bit, she might warm up to you.”

“It’s okay.” Aiden shoves his hands in his pocket and rocks back on his heels. “I kind of expected that. My cousin… you remember her from when you came to mine for Christmas, Natalie?” He waits for Bucky to nod. “She had a baby about a year ago and I didn’t meet him for a few months and he wouldn’t have anything to do with me either. It’s just the age, I think. They’re clingy.” He looks over at Steve. “Hey, dude. Good to see you again, how’ve you been?”

“Oh, you know.” Steve shrugs, splaying his hands. “Same old. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Just settling in. The city’s kind of crazy, you know? Lots to get used to.” His teeth flash when he grins, a little crooked. “But it’s been great, being able to hang out with this one again.” He nudges Bucky with his elbow.

“Yeah, because obviously the conversation is stellar,” Bucky snickers as he sits on the couch, propping Estelle in his lap. “I’m just overflowing with words. But only in one subject.”

“Yeah, I’ll let you have about two months,” Aiden sits next to him and this time when he reaches his hand out, Estelle grabs his fingers. “That’s about the same amount of time you let me talk about the Library Incident so count your days.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” the horror on Bucky’s face would be comical if Steve had any fucking clue what they’re talking about. “I thought you agreed to never bring that up again.”

“I’m just saying. Hopefully you’ll be able to resolve yours in less time than that, Jamie, I mean really.”

Steve’s brows go up. “Jamie?” The name is sour on his tongue, bitter with the truth that yes, he is jealous. It’s not that he doesn’t know he has an easy closeness with Bucky, he does. But it’s clear from this that Bucky and Aiden have _history_ where Steve never will. It’s not just the nickname. It’s the inside jokes and how Bucky knows all of Aiden’s extended family, they’d been together long enough to reach that stage.

There’s a flush across Bucky’s cheeks. “It’s a nickname. Remember I told you my first name is James?” 

“Right, yeah, I remember.” Steve licks his lips, glancing back at Aiden. Going into this, his plan was to observe their relationship, to decide whether or not he should bring up the pictures from the store or hold his tongue. But he’s seen enough. “Um, I should probably go get dinner started. Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” He has to ask, it’s the polite thing to do.

“Oh, no.” Aiden pushes his hair off his forehead. “I’m hitting the gym after I leave here, so I’ll get something on my way home when I’m done. But thank you.”

“Alright,” he stands, holding out his hand to shake Aiden’s. “Stay as long as you like. If you need a drink or anything, I’m right in the kitchen.” God, can he stop talking? He glances at Bucky, who’s watching the exchange with a frown, all furrowed brow bewilderment. Steve swallows. And makes his hasty exit.

***

He throws up in the bathroom of a Starbucks by the SHIELD headquarters. It’s bitterly cold out, so he’d stopped by to grab a coffee before going to his appointment, but his stomach is twisting, full of knots. Sweat beading all over his face and hands shaking. And puking all his breakfast up does nothing to make him feel better. He flushes the evidence and grips the edge of the sink, leaning down to rinse his mouth out. “Okay, Rogers.” Get it together. It’s just an hour. He splashes water over his face and dries off with a paper towel before leaving the bathroom. The coffee he’d ordered is waiting for him so he grabs it and thanks the barista on his way out. 

In the SHIELD building, everyone nods to him, greets him with something mixed between respect and awe. It takes every bit of his will to keep the Captain America mask in place, his jaw aching from how tightly he’s clenching his teeth. They only see what history has turned him into, what they _want_ to see. Rose colored glasses that don’t show anything real, images more fragile than glass. Dr. Fray’s office is on the third floor and he doesn’t really want to be stuck in the elevator with anyone so he finishes his drink and takes the stairs. The hallway is empty, thankfully, so he slips through the office door unnoticed. 

Dr. Fray is already in the waiting room, talking to the receptionist. He looks up at Steve’s entrance, looking exactly the same as the last Steve saw him but with a little more gray in his goatee. “Captain Rogers. I must say, I was surprised to see your name on my appointment list today. Do you want to go ahead and go back now? Darlene will check you in.” He holds his hand out and Steve reluctantly shakes it. 

This is how it always starts, friendly and professional. It’s not until he gets Steve behind closed doors that he starts in with the questions and treating him like he’s stupid. More than one session had ended with Steve locking himself in a supply closet down the hall and hyperventilating. Too in his head, too much input from everything around him. The second he’d been cleared for active duty, he’d been out the door and convinced he would never come back. “Sure. Sooner we start, the sooner we’re done.”

He follows Dr. Fray back into the office. One wall is lined with dark wood bookshelves, cram packed with thick tomes. There’s a desk in the corner, weak light coming through the window above it. Steve sits on the edge of the leather couch- he hates leather furniture. It’s too cold, too slippery and too clingy to the sweaty palms of his hands. The doctor sits across from him, in a matching armchair. There’s a thick rug underfoot and lots of lamps, filling the space with warm light, probably meant to put people at ease. But Steve hates this room and his heart is pounding loud in his ears and he’s about to come out of his skin. _Don’t be stupid. Don’t let him see._ He grinds his teeth, flicking his pinky against his thumb in his lap. 

“So,” The doctor picks up a tablet from the small coffee table between them and leans back in his chair, crossing one knee over the other. “Given your lack of continuing our sessions after the mandatory five, I assume you have a big reason for coming in today. What would you like to talk about?”

Steve takes a breath and licks his lips. “I have a lot of nightmares. Sometimes I wake up and don’t remember where I am right away.”

“This is all normal and expected in anyone experiencing post traumatic stress disorder.” Dr. Fray frowns at his tablet, swiping his finger across the screen. “We did cover that in one of our sessions.”

“Yes, we did.” Steve bites out. He’s rehearsed this, it’s okay. He knows exactly what he needs to say. “And I’ve been dealing with it but recently my situation has changed and I almost hurt someone very close to me when they tried to wake me up. I haven’t had a nightmare since but I frequently have stretches where I don’t dream at all and then they come back. I’m concerned that I _will_ end up hurting… the person I share a bed with when I have one again. I read online that they have a medicine that makes them stop. Um, Prazosin?”

Dr. Fray’s face never breaks from his smooth professional mask. He clasps his hands over his knee, leaning forward slightly. “It’s true that Prazosin has been successfully used in treating PTSD nightmares. However, Captain Rogers, I believe you’re aware that your metabolism is unique. I cannot simply prescribe it to you as I would to anyone else; it would take quite a large dose to even hope to counteract your symptoms. I can contact the rest of your medical team with your permission and work with them to engineer a dose that would be effective, but it will take some time. And probably multiple adjustments before we get the dosage right. In the meantime, I’m more than happy to help you find some techniques that may reduce the frequency and intensity of your nightmares.” He smiles. Or his version of a smile, which is the corners of his lips tilting up slightly. “Have you heard of Image Rehearsal Therapy?”

“No, I don’t-” Steve pushes the heels of his palms against his thighs, down to his knees and dragging back upward but with his nails instead. His fingers are shaking, his hands are shaking. This isn’t how it was supposed to happen _at all_. He rehearsed everything in the shower this morning. The doctor was supposed to listen to what he had to say and agree. He was supposed to walk out of this building with a prescription and pick up his orange bottle of pills before bed tonight so he can stop being so fucking afraid. This is messing it all up. “I don’t want _therapy_. I’ve read the studies. I’ve tried it all on my own, it doesn’t work.”

“I applaud you taking initiative and working on independently finding coping mechanisms but with all due respect, Captain Rogers. With my insight, you may find that they _do_ work. After all, I am the one educated in the subject here.”

Steve grinds his teeth, shaking. He has to work to release the tension, focusing all his energy on loosening his jaw. For years, he’s been trying different things the internet tells him to. Sometimes it helps a little bit, but it never lasts. And quite frankly, he’s not all that impressed with the doctor's _education_ because if what Bucky had suggested is true, then he’s managed to miss this huge thing about Steve in spite of his fancy degree. “Do you think I’m autistic?” He blurts it out, shoving his hands under his thighs.

That gets the doctor’s mask to slip, surprise flickering across his features. “What makes you ask that? Do _you_ think you have autism?”

“I asked you.” Steve presses. “I want to know. You’re the one educated in this after all. Do you think I am?”

Dr. Fray takes a deep breath. “Within our first session, I noticed you exhibit some signs… red flags, shall we call them? Our purpose for those sessions was to clear you for active duty but I did assess you for autism. However.” He purses his lips. “Despite the results of that assessment, I did not choose to give you the diagnosis.”

“Then I _am_ autistic?” He hates the way the doctor talks, purposely vague. It’s not giving a real answer. “Just tell me.”

“Captain Rogers. I am not only a psychiatrist, but I am an employee of SHIELD. My job was to clear you for duty and I did that. Do you know that any applicant with an autism spectrum disorder is automatically disqualified per the Department of Defense accession policy? That applies to both the army and to SHIELD.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Yes, I believe you have autism. However, you’ve proven yourself in the field long before any of us were ever born so I didn’t let that affect my clearing you for duty. You’re clearly high functioning. Most people will just look at you and see what you and I know to be autism as a quirk or shyness or just PTSD.”

Steve’s shaking. How _dare_ he. This huge thing about Steve, this part of him that he’s been trying to stuff down and hide his entire life, the doctor had _known_ and he hadn’t even bothered to tell Steve. To explain to him _why_ he is the way he is. “Diagnose me now.” He grits out. When Dr. Fray raises his brows, Steve stands. “Put it in my fucking file. I don’t care if it makes me unfit for duty because I _quit_.”

The purpose of the first five sessions was never to see if he was doing okay or to help him adjust to the world. It was to do anything necessary to make sure they could send Steve out on missions to do their dirty work. Well, he’s done. He’s tired and he’s done doing shit for them. Over the past months he’s been working toward this point anyway. Maybe if aliens attack again, he’ll help the Avengers. But he’s done with SHIELD. 

“Captain Rogers,” Dr. Fray sputters, hands up like he’s trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Why don’t you sit down? Let’s talk this out.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” Steve crosses his arms. He’ll figure out something else to work through the issue of his nightmares but at least he won’t have wasted his trip. Something good has come from it after all. “I want you to put it in my file and give me a printed copy of it. I’m taking it straight upstairs to Hill and I’m telling her what I just told you. I. Quit.”

“You’re making rash, emotional decisions. SHIELD needs you, Captain.”

“I don’t give a fuck. They need something that I am _not_. Give me the paper.”

***

The doctor had argued tooth and nail against officially putting the diagnosis in Steve’s record but he’d eventually given in. He’d tried to get Steve to sit down and listen to what _living with autism_ means, like Steve hasn’t been autistic his whole life. Maybe if he’d offered that from the beginning, Steve would have been willing to listen. But not now. He slams the door hard enough to rattle the painting on the wall when he enters the apartment, not thinking. When Estelle starts screaming, he slumps to the floor and puts his head in his hands. Of course it’s her naptime.

It takes a few minutes for Bucky to calm her down, but then the nursery door is opening. “Steve?”

Even not being able to see him, Steve can hear the alarm in Bucky’s voice. “I didn’t mean to wake her up,” he mumbles, propping his elbows on his knees and roughly pushing his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.” He glances up.

“She’ll be fine.” Bucky hesitates, then steps forward, kneeling in front of Steve. “What happened?”

That morning before he’d left, Steve had only told Bucky that he needed to run to SHIELD for a little while to take care of something. Not that he thinks Bucky would think anything less of him for going to see a therapist but he’d been so keyed up with nerves he’d barely been able to speak at all. Steve takes a breath and reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper with the diagnosis on it and handing it to Bucky. 

Bucky smooths it out and glances over it, his brows furrowing. “Is it… a bad thing? To know for sure?”

“It’s not that.” Steve sighs and knocks his head back against the door. “It’s the fact that the therapist that SHIELD made me see after I woke up _knew_. For _years_ and decided not to say anything until I asked. Because apparently I’m ‘high functioning’.” He makes air quotation marks. “Like what the fuck does that even mean? I look normal enough from the outside that they can write me off as just being a little strange? I don’t fucking _feel_ high functioning when I can’t even speak for hours after missions and when I-” he breaks off, sucking in a breath and rocking back and forth. “I have worked my entire _life_ to be able to blend in. It’s not a _function_ , it’s an _act._ ”

“Steve-”

“It’s all just a fucking act. I don’t even know if I’m even the real me anymore at all because I was never _allowed_ to be. Nobody sees-”

“ _I_ see.” Bucky interrupts, lightly touching the side of Steve’s ankle. “I see you, Steve. You never have to pretend to be anything but who you are, not when you’re with me.” He takes a deep breath, eyes brimming with anger, but not towards Steve. “That therapist? Yeah, he’s a piece of shit. He should have told you. Helped you find resources. But fuck him. I can Google with the best of them, so we’ll find the information ourselves. Or if you want, I’ll help you find a different therapist.”

“I don’t want a therapist,” Steve sighs, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. He’s not crying, but they burn against his eyelids like he has been. “He didn’t diagnose me because apparently his only real job was to clear me for field work. And I can’t be both autistic _and_ Captain America. At least according to the Department of Defense.”

Bucky looks at the paper again and back at Steve. “So then….”

“I took that right up to the Deputy Director’s office and I put it on her desk.” The look on Maria Hill’s face had been priceless at that, when she’d seen what was on the paper. She’d warned that Fury wouldn’t be happy but Steve really doesn’t care. “They were surprised at the diagnosis, but not that I’m quitting. Let's face it, it’s not like I’ve been a model agent lately. I guess they had a retirement fund set up for me so I’m getting that, but I’m done.” He swallows hard. “Officially unemployed.”

“You know what this calls for?”

“What?”

Bucky smiles at him and stands, holding out a hand. “A blanket pile, ice cream, and comfort movies. C’mon.”

“You just want an excuse to eat ice cream,” Steve says, but takes Bucky’s hand anyway and lets him drag him to the kitchen. Ever since the flu, he’s made sure to keep the freezer stocked because Bucky eats the stuff like it’s going out of style. He has to admit though, Bucky’s idea sounds good, exactly what he needs. A chance to just not think for the rest of the day. And if some snuggling happens, he won’t complain. He takes the bowls down from the cabinet as Bucky pulls cartons from the freezer and toppings from the fridge. 

When Steve reaches for the peanut butter cup carton, Bucky pulls it away with a teasing grin. “Nope. I’m making yours today. Here,” he slides the cookies and cream to Steve instead, “you can make mine. Be creative. And no peeking!”

“Are we having a contest or something?” Steve scoops ice cream into the bowl and reaches for the chocolate chips. He dutifully keeps his eyes on his own work area while Bucky moves to the island to assemble his sundae. 

“Not really a contest,” Bucky hums. “Just a surprise, I guess. It’s fun! I noticed you were acting off last night and I was gonna bring it up this morning but then you left… I guess it was because of the appointment, right?”

“Yeah.” That had been a contributing factor. 

Did Bucky do ice cream and movie marathons with Aiden?

Steve swallows. No. He’s not gonna do that to himself. Not today. The only thing he needs to focus on right now is being as creative as he can in assembling this sundae. He carefully uses a spoon to shape the scoops into little mountains on either side of the bowl, chocolate chips sprinkled over the tops of them like snow. He takes the chocolate syrup and makes a river going through the valley between them. As a finishing touch, he adds a single gummy bear by the river. Since living together, with Bucky bringing in groceries even though Steve’s told him he doesn’t have to, there’s a lot more junk food in his cabinets than before.

“Okay, I’m done. Are you done?”

“I’m done,” Steve picks up the bowl and turns around. 

Bucky’s holding out his creation, proud smile on his face. The scoops of ice cream are packed in the bowl tight and with peanut butter Oreos, Bucky had made two eyes. He’d used caramel sauce for the eyebrows and the mouth, with carefully placed whipped cream dollops for teeth and a miniature peanut butter cup for the nose. When he sees Steve’s bowl, his eyes go wide. “Holy shit that’s so fucking cool. What the hell, Steve?”

“You said to be creative.”

Bucky’s eyes light up and he trades the bowls. “Have you ever thought about going into art professionally? I’m serious, Steve,” he says as they head for the living room. “You’re, like, _really_ good.”

“I did do art professionally. Sort of.” Steve sets his bowl on the table by the couch and goes to grab a bunch of blankets from the hall closet. He picks the softest, fluffiest ones that he has. When he comes back into the living room, Bucky’s got the TV turned on, scrolling through movies.

“Sort of? Tell me about it,” Bucky sets the remote down, turning to him. “If you want.”

“I drew advertisements for clothing companies and newspapers. Sometimes painted the windows of department stores. It wasn’t much, not like… _real_ professional work, but it paid the bills.” And he’d been able to do it from home for the most part, so even when he was sick he could still work. That had been his real life saver. Any other job would have dropped him in a month. 

“I think that’s professional work.” Bucky tells him loyally. But he’s got a determined look on his face. “You should think about it though. I’m serious, that mural in the nursery is fucking amazing, Steve. All those rich upper east side mothers would kill to get something like that in their kids’ rooms. Hell, museums would probably sell their souls to get your work on their walls.”

“Bucky, I don’t know-”

“I’m not pressuring you. You’ve worked more than enough for any lifetime, so if you never want to lift a finger again, you know I support you.” Bucky smiles, shrugging. “But I see the way you look when you draw. You kind of… light up. It’s obvious you really do love art. I just want you to be happy.”

Growing up, Steve had dreamed of a world where his art was in museums and people’s homes, sought after and displayed. But he’s not so sure he brought that dream with him to the future, to this world where so much about him is already on display. He swallows, picking up his bowl. “I’ll think about it, Bucky. What’re we watching?” 

Bucky’s obviously well aware that he’s deliberately changing the subject but he doesn’t make a big deal of it. “What’s your comfort movie?”

“I don’t think I have one.” Steve pulls one of the ‘eyes’ off of his sundae, popping it in his mouth. He _does_ like peanut butter Oreos. 

“We’ll work on that.” Bucky sighs. “Okay, where are we at on the Disney watchlist?” When Steve had told him that he’s actually watching them in chronological release order, he’d been more than willing to jump in and watch with him. 

“Um. Hercules and then Mulan.”

“Oh _yes_!” Bucky grins, big and bright. “Holy shit, you’re gonna love these. Get settled in.” He scrolls through the queue until he finds the movie, pressing play. 

Growing up, Steve had read the greek myths so he’s been looking forward to this one and gives it his full attention. What he hadn’t expected was how much he would see _himself_ in Hercules. Granted, he hadn’t been super strong when he’d still been skinny, but everything else… hits home. About halfway through, Estelle wakes up so Bucky pauses the movie long enough to go get her up. Even as young as she is, she’s fascinated by the TV and wiggles and bounces when the music comes on. 

They make it through Mulan and Tarzan and are half heartedly paying attention to Fantasia 2000 but it’s getting late. Bucky has migrated around, lying flat on his back with his head propped on Steve’s thigh. He’s got Estelle sitting on his chest, carefully stabilizing her with his hands wrapped around her ribcage. “You know,” he tilts his head up to meet Steve’s gaze. “You don’t have to keep regulation hair anymore.”

“I don’t.”

“So all I’m saying is, if you wanted, you could totally grow a beard.” Bucky smirks at him, letting go of Estelle with one hand to rub at his own five o’clock shadow. He never gets more than a shadow of scruff, but it drives Steve a little crazy at the end of each day. And maybe that goes two ways…. 

“Do you think I’d look good with a beard?” He asks casually, licking his lips and he could _swear_ Bucky’s breath catches.

“I think you’d look good in just about anything you wanted to try,” Bucky says softly, a half smile offsetting the hint of pink across his nose. And Steve wants to kiss him _so bad_ but he can’t bring himself to move, frozen in time staring down into Bucky’s eyes. He can hear his heart thudding in his ears.

Estelle chooses that moment to lunge forward, Bucky’s relaxed grip not enough to stop her from grabbing the sides of Bucky’s face in her hands. She mashes her face against Bucky’s and then bites his nose. _Hard_.

“Ow, what the fuck?” Bucky yelps, jerking back, his head digging into Steve’s thigh. But Estelle has a good hold, her fingers digging into skin and she follows him and bites again, her entire body shaking all over. “Fuck, that actually hurts, Estelle.” He gently pushes her back, enough to get his pointer finger inside her mouth, feeling along her bottom gums. “You have a _tooth!_ ”

“Oh, it came through?” Steve rubs his hand over her back. “Good job, angel.”

“You _knew?_ ” Bucky tries to glare at him but Estelle is kind of grabbing at his eyes now so it loses any intimidating effect. “Ow! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I… figured you knew.” 

“I’m a terrible parent,” Bucky groans, sitting up and putting Estelle in his lap. “I should have known.”

“You’re _not_ a terrible parent.” Steve nudges him, rolling his eyes. “I only noticed when she started chewing on my hand and I felt it trying to come through. It’s kind of early for a first tooth, of course you weren’t expecting it.”

“She rolled early too. Guess that’s something to talk to the doctor about next week.” Bucky kisses the top of her head. “Do you want to go? To the appointment?”

“I’d like that.”

***

The doctor’s office is brightly colored, full of things to hold children’s attention and distract them from what they were there for. Steve sits next to Bucky in the waiting room, the hood of his pullover up. He really doesn’t want to get recognized today, especially not by anyone that might have seen the grocery store photographs. Estelle is a heavy weight sprawled across his chest, fast asleep. Bucky’s smiling at his phone and Steve _isn’t_ trying to snoop, but it’s not his fault if he accidentally saw the contact name **aiden :)**.

He gets that people can be friends with their exes and he’s not begrudging Bucky that. But what he can’t seem to get a read on is if they’re _just_ close friends or if there’s more to it. He’d been so close that night on the couch to just kissing Bucky and letting his actions tell his feelings for him, but when the spell had been broken, he’d gone back to this. This in-between of should he say something or keep holding his tongue? He slouches further in the seat, glancing at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. Fuck it. “Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.”

Bucky’s brows shoot up and he looks up at Steve. “Yes, it is.”

“Well, I was just wondering if you’re going out tomorrow night. So I can… plan for dinner accordingly.”

“I’m not going out.” Bucky looks down but not fast enough to keep Steve from seeing his expression fall.

And he just can’t help but press. “Not even with Aiden?” When Bucky doesn’t answer right away, he takes a deep breath. “Bucky, I really, _truly_ don’t care if you date men. I know you think because of when I grew up-”

“I’m not dating Aiden.” Bucky interrupts, finally looking at him again. “I’m not dating him now and I won’t be in the future either because I do not _want_ to date him. We broke up because we both know we’re better as friends. And even if we weren’t, he doesn’t want kids.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs. The nurse comes out into the waiting room and calls for them so he doesn’t say anything more, standing and grabbing the diaper bag. 

They get led back to an exam room, the walls rainforest themed. He has to hand Estelle to the nurse and although she sleeps through the exchange, she wakes up when she goes to undress and weigh her, crying at the unfamiliar face. The nurse has Bucky stand in her line of sight while she charts Estelle’s weight, height, and head circumference. She’s just over thirteen pounds, more than double her birth weight which is good, according to the nurse. When she finishes, she moves aside to let Bucky pick the baby up from the examining table, tells him the doctor will be with them soon and makes her exit. 

Bucky sits next to Steve but he doesn’t bother to redress Estelle, wrapping her in a blanket instead. “More vaccines today.” He presses his face against the top of Estelle’s head. “I hate the way she screams. Feels like I’m holding her down and letting them torture her.”

“I know it can’t be pleasant,” Steve hesitates. He hasn’t been here for any of her vaccinations before this, so he’s about to find out just _how_ unpleasant it really is. “But. It’s a good thing, it really is. In the long run. So many _horrible_ diseases that kids were dying from when I was growing up, that’s what these vaccines prevent. And when she’s older, she won’t remember that it hurt. But she’ll be safe.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right.” Bucky smiles at him. “It’s just hard.”

“Do you want me to hold her when it’s time?” Steve offers.

“No. I need to do this.” He runs his hand up and down Estelle’s back, his head tipped back against the wall. The baby is already asleep again. “But thanks.”

It takes a little while for the doctor to come in and when she does, only the slightest widening of her eyes tells that she knows exactly who Steve is. She washes her hands at the sink and by the time she faces them again her face is completely professional as she sits on her stool. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. I trust you’re staying warm?”

“Trying to,” Bucky smiles wryly.

The doctor crosses one knee over the other and looks down at her tablet. “Let’s jump into it, shall we? Just some basic questions before her physical. How is she sleeping?”

“Uh, pretty good, I think. Couple of weeks ago she had a few nights where she just woke up in the middle of the night and wouldn’t go back to sleep for like an hour but I think she’s over it. I usually have to feed her once during the night but when she’s full she settles back down pretty easily.”

“And how about naps? About how many does she average per day?”

Bucky glances over, meeting Steve’s eye. “I mean… you’d know the answer better than I would.”

And it’s true. Not that Bucky doesn’t know plenty about Estelle, Steve knows he does. But Steve has her all day during the week and is around for the weekends too. “I’d say about three? But they’re pretty short and it depends on the day. Sometimes she doesn’t want to sleep at all and sometimes it seems like it’s all she wants to do.”

“That’s normal for her age.” Dr. Petrova smiles reassuringly. “Has she shown any signs of rolling over or sitting with support? If she hasn’t yet, that’s perfectly okay, but it’s something you should watch her to start doing this month.”

“Has she ever.” Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “She rolled over stomach to back, god… almost a month ago? She’s got that mastered by now but she hasn’t rolled the other way yet. She also sits as long as someone is there to support her. And she cut a tooth last week. I wanted to ask about that. She’s hitting these milestones pretty early, isn’t she?”

“She does seem to be a little advanced by what you’re describing.” She types something out on the tablet. “These are the first big milestones so we’ll be able to get a better idea of how she’s charting over the next couple of months. Has she shown any signs of interest in solid foods, such as watching you when you eat or reaching for your food?”

“No, not that I’ve noticed.”

Steve shakes his head when Bucky glances at him. He hasn’t noticed her acting any more differently than usual when it comes to food either. She’s voracious when it comes to her bottle but she doesn’t have any interest in what they’re eating yet. “She has about four ounces of formula each feeding, about six times a day. But she hasn’t shown any interest in solids yet.”

“That’s alright. Four months is the absolute earliest that she might be able to start eating, but don’t push it. When she’s ready, she’ll let you know. When she does get ready, start her out on something simple. Rice cereal, banana, and sweet potatoes are a common first food. Introduce new foods slowly and keep a watch out for any sign of an allergic reaction.” The doctor goes through a few more questions and then stands, setting the tablet aside to go and pull on a pair of gloves. “If you’ll put Estelle on the examining table for me?”

Miraculously, even though Estelle wakes up again when she’s laid down on the table, she doesn’t start crying. Dr. Petrova goes through checking her vitals and reflexes and when she gently flips Estelle over onto her stomach to check her head control, she promptly rolls over again. “My, my. You really do have that mastered, don’t you?” It takes a few tries before Estelle stays on her stomach long enough to record the data that the doctor is looking for but when she finishes the examination and hands Estelle back to Bucky, she says, “Baby is not only healthy, but thriving. Keep up the good work, you two. The nurse will be coming by in a few minutes to do vaccinations and I will see you in two months. Don’t hesitate to call with any questions, though.” She shakes both of their hands and heads out. 

“And now the worst part.” Bucky’s gone white as a sheet, rocking Estelle back and forth like the pain has already started. 

Steve takes a deep breath and reaches over, squeezing Bucky’s knee. “It’ll be alright. Just a few minutes and we’re done.”

It isn’t long before the nurse comes in with a tray full of shots and a falsely bright smile. She washes her hands and puts on gloves, coming to sit in front of Bucky. “Already know the drill on holding her?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says weakly. He’s got her cradled half against his chest, half in the crook of his arm. “Steve, can you hold her ankles? So she can’t jerk her legs.”

Steve swallows and reaches out, her feet tiny in the palms of his hands as he wraps his fingers gently around her ankles. “Anything else?”

“Can you sing?” 

He nods as the nurse preps the injection sites, wiping down Estelle’s thighs with alcohol swabs. “I got sunshine… on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside,” he closes his eyes when the needle goes in. “I’ve got the month of May.” The cry is delayed, like she doesn’t realize she’s been hurt yet and he suddenly _gets_ Bucky’s dread. “I guess… you say… what can make me feel this way? My girl.”

The injections seem to drag, even though he knows the nurse is moving as fast as she can. By the time the last syringe is depressed in Estelle’s leg, she’s screaming and arching, fat tears rolling down her face as she sobs. Bucky’s crying too, chin against his chest. “It’s over,” Steve says, releasing Estelle’s legs to wrap his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and hug him across the chair as the nurse stands up. “It’s done.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bucky’s whispering, wiping the tears from Estelle’s cheeks. “I hate hurting you, Stellie. I’m so sorry.”

Steve barely registers the nurse handing him some papers and telling them to take as long as they need. He’s got his hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, thumb running back and forth across the short hair at the nape. Estelle’s calmed down a little, but she’s still crying. He leans down long enough to shove the paperwork into the diaper bag and then he turns his full attention on the two distressed Barnes’. “You’re okay,” he says, not sure who the words are actually aimed at. “No more shots for a long while.”

Estelle hiccups, twisting in Bucky’s hold and when she sees Steve she reaches for him. He glances at Bucky, not wanting to separate them if Bucky needs the contact with her right now. But Bucky nods, shifting so Steve can take Estelle. He’s careful with her legs, not wanting to put any pressure on her band aids when he cradles her against his chest. But she quiets, body shuddering with the aftershocks of her sobs, her fist grasping his shirt tight.

“Thank you,” Bucky says finally, voice thick. He sniffles and stands, going over to grab a tissue from the counter and blowing his nose. “For coming with. I… I really couldn’t do this- any of this, not just the doctor’s appointment- without you, Steve. You’re just-” he shakes his head, turning to wash his hands. “I really appreciate you.”

Steve runs his hand up and down Estelle’s spine, soothing. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” And he means that, wholly and completely. As torturous as the past few minutes were, this is his _family_ and he needs to be here for them. He wants to be there for every hard moment just as much as he wants to be there for the good, easy ones. He stands, holding his free arm out. “C’mere.”

Relief washes over Bucky’s face and he crosses the small room, tucking himself against Steve’s side. He puts one hand on Estelle’s back and the other grips Steve’s shoulder blade as he presses his face against Steve’s neck. They stand there hugging for a long time and though they say nothing, the silence is comfortable. Eventually Bucky pulls back and sighs and says they should probably head out so they gather up their things and head for the lobby.

The receptionist books Estelle’s six month checkup for April and it hits Steve like a truck that Bucky will have probably moved into a new apartment by then. He’s dreading it, doing his best to never, never think about having to go back to the empty loneliness of living alone. Sure, he’ll have Estelle during the weekdays still, but when night falls or the weekend hits… it’ll just be him. He’ll go back to sleeping on the floor, go back to staring at the walls or cleaning spotless rooms for lack of anything better to do and no life in the apartment to quiet his thoughts. His stomach twists, fluttery and queasy. 

What would it take to get them to stay?

He doesn’t get long to focus on that though, because even though she’d calmed down in the office, as soon as she’s put in her carseat, Estelle starts crying again and doesn’t really stop for the rest of the day. She’s feverish and not soothed by her bottle. They try rocking her, they try pacing the floor with her, they try giving her a bath but nothing calms her. Eventually Steve ends up running to the corner store for baby Tylenol to give to her. She naps fitfully but wakes up every fifteen minutes or so, fussy again. When she finally falls asleep that night just after eleven, they’re both exhausted and ready for bed themselves. No telling if she’ll actually _stay_ asleep or if she’ll be screaming again in an hour. While Bucky is grabbing a quick shower, Steve goes through the apartment, tidying up and turning off lights. 

Bucky isn’t messy, not really. He always cleans up after himself and Estelle. But he doesn’t notice some things, things that would drive Steve crazy if he left it. It’s nothing big and he doesn’t begrudge it. Bucky brings _life_ to the apartment, unafraid to live imperfectly each day. It’s soothing in a way, to be able to go through each night, pushing the stools in at the bar _just so_ and straightening the throw blanket on the back of the couch. As he goes along, he lets the routine clear his mind, hopes it will keep the nightmares away if he focuses on monotony. The locks on the door get checked, keys put on the hook in the wall. He moves the TV remote from the arm of the couch to the table and pushes the wicker basket with toys for Estelle against the side of the couch.

When he gets to the bedroom, Bucky still hasn’t come out of the bathroom, so he sits against the headboard and texts back and forth with Natasha for a little while. News has spread through SHIELD about his ‘early retirement’ but it hasn’t made it to the press yet. It probably won’t be long though and she warns that it’ll probably be a huge debate in the media- can he actually _quit_ being Captain America?- and he might want to think about coming up with a disguise unless he wants to be mobbed when he goes out. Normally they keep their distance and leave him alone, out of respect or fear of being blacklisted from all press events since it had been made clear that the Avengers were not to be harassed in public. But although he didn’t quit being an Avenger, the media will not differentiate and it will be a free for all if he’s spotted out and about. 

Maybe it’s time to start growing that beard. 

The bathroom door finally opens and Bucky emerges, hair still damp. The loose blue shirt he’s wearing doesn’t completely come down far enough to cover his black briefs. Steve swallows hard, locking his phone. Even if Steve’s heart wasn’t overflowing with feeling for Bucky, even if he didn’t want to do terrible, filthy things to him, he still wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away. Bucky’s got the kind of lithe, graceful figure that catches the attention of the artist in him. If they ever have the time, Steve would love nothing more than to spend an afternoon in the sun, sketching out Bucky’s long limbs, subtly outlining the muscle on his thighs and shading in his sharp facial features. He licks his lips and blinks as Bucky moves to get under the blankets. “That’s my shirt.”

Bucky pauses, looking down at what he’s wearing and raising bleary eyes to meet Steve’s gaze. “I’m sorry, I guess I just grabbed from the closet without looking. I can change if you want?”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. Wear whatever you want.” Steve puts his phone on the nightstand and connects it to the charger. He doesn’t say _I like you in my clothes_ but he thinks it. 

Bucky smiles, tired but beaming, as he scooches down the bed and lays on his side, facing Steve. “Good, ‘cause it’s really comfortable.” His eyelids are already drooping, heavy with sleep. “You’re never getting it back now, sorry.” Under the covers, his chilly hands reach out, water wrinkled fingers finding the patch of skin where Steve’s shirt has rucked up. “Aren’t you g’nna cuddle me, Rogers?”

The way Steve craves this time of night is honestly kind of terrifying. The moment he gets to move across the space between them and press up against Bucky, who’s skin is always cool in contrast to Steve’s constantly overheated body. Bucky is unfailingly a back sleeper and even if he manages to fall asleep in a different position, as soon as he’s out, he will flip around. So Steve nudges him until he’s flat against the mattress and Steve can settle his head in the hollow of Bucky’s shoulder, one arm around his waist. “Go to sleep, Buck. It’s probably past midnight.”

“Mmm,” Bucky hums, his fingers carding lazily through Steve’s hair. “That means it’s Valentine’s Day. You gonna….” his voice trails off, sleep trying to pull him under, “gonna be my Valentine, Stevie?”

Steve’s heart is swelling, lodging itself in his throat. Bucky might as well be sleeptalking, no way he’ll remember any of this in the morning. So there’s no harm in saying, “Sure. Just as long as you’ll be mine.”

He isn’t surprised when Bucky doesn’t respond, when his breathing goes deep and even and his fingers slacken in Steve’s hair. But Steve replays those words over and over, smiling in the dark. Sure, friends can be valentines, but if he wants to be delusional and fantasize about… whatever people do for their boyfriend on Valentine’s Day… well, no one's gonna know. 

In the idealised version of them in his head, when he wakes up in the morning, he doesn’t have to immediately extract himself from the cosy warmth of their blanket nest, terrified of Bucky waking to the evidence that Steve is always fucking hard in the morning. Maybe some days Dream Steve can gently nudge Bucky to wakefulness and in this idealised life, Estelle sleeps in the nursery, so they’re free to lazily explore each other’s bodies. Maybe some days Steve just gets up and showers and starts breakfast as usual but when Bucky comes into the kitchen in search of coffee, he gets to greet him with not just a steaming mug but also a kiss that tastes like toothpaste. 

He’s going to drive himself crazy one of these days, honestly. Mentally dangling everything he doesn’t have in front of him, like a movie playing in his head. But ignoring it doesn’t make it go away, so he might as well indulge a little bit. So for now, he lies awake listening to the soft alternating whooshes of Bucky and Estelle’s breathing, and he dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i hope to drag this fic out a little longer but i'm starting to grasp at straws for the plot. i have a few ideas and im sure more will come to me but if there's anything you'd like to see me include, don't be shy!! let me know!! it doesn't have to be specifically plotty either if there's any like fluffy things yall wanna see... if u've read my other fics u prob know im always open to any kind of suggestions. basically u tell me to jump and i say how high bc reading ur comments is my only source of serotonin at this point. 
> 
> just because i don't have hydra in this fic doesn't mean that shield itself isn't really shitty so go steve for getting the fuck out of there so true king... a big fuck u to that 'therapist'! anyway i discovered writing jealousy isn't really my forte but i had to include a little bit at least so sorry if that scene was bad im just not used to writing it. 
> 
> im still fighting twitter over my account this is so sad. im currently on a backup acc but idk if they'll let me keep it rip i just miss sharing writing snippets w yall


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg im so sorry about the delay in updating i was struggling a little with writing this chapter but i finally got through it i hope you enjoy!! im thiiiiiiinking there may only be one more chapter but i havent settled on exactly what i want to do yet so im not making any guarantees.

On Valentine’s day, Steve doesn’t shave. Bucky doesn’t think anything of it, the first few days. By the time a week has passed, Steve has a tidy stubble because of course his hair not only grows at a faster rate, but it comes in evenly, not a bare patch in sight. After two weeks, when Bucky comes home from work, it’s evident that Steve has seen a barber. His beard is neatly groomed and even from across the room it looks soft, probably from some kind of product. Bucky could slap his past self for ever suggesting this. He can’t even be mad that he’s having a crisis because he did it to himself. 

Ohhh, it’s over for him. Steve is at the stove, sweat beading on his forehead from standing over the skillet. His shirt sleeves are pushed up past his elbows, putting his forearms on display. Not for Bucky’s viewing pleasure but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop looking. He does have to stop ogling his arms for a second to give his ass an appreciative once over- he swears every single one of Steve’s pants is tailored to hug every dip and curve. Clearing his throat, he steps into the kitchen and switches his focus to Estelle. “Did you miss me, baby?” He bends over to get her out of the swing, bouncing her on his forearm as he stands. When she starts laughing, he grins. “I missed you.”

“Guess who rolled over from her back to her tummy today?” Steve sets aside the spatula he’s using to stir, turning around to face them. 

“Oh my god, I missed it?” He swallows hard, stomach dropping. It’s not that he didn’t know he would miss some of her firsts, of course he knows. But that doesn’t make it sting any less. He kisses Estelle’s forehead, rocking side to side. “How did it happen?”

Steve shrugs, shaking his head. “I was letting her play on the floor and she had flipped onto her back. I turned around for two seconds to get my sketchbook from the shelf and when I looked back at her she was on her stomach. So I guess I missed it too.”

“You’re gonna be sneaky like that, Stellie?” Bucky tickles her tummy lightly, heading to the fridge. He pulls it open and grabs a Caprisun from the door, because he’s actually a child and when he’d stopped by the grocery store last night and seen them on the shelf, he had to get them. Try as he might, he can’t get the straw in it and hold Estelle securely so he takes it over to Steve, putting on his best pleading face. “Can you open this for me?”

“You know there’s like no real juice in this, right?” Steve rolls his eyes and takes it from him, carefully stabbing the straw through the foil and handing it back. “First two ingredients are water and sugar.”

“Yeah and it tastes good as fuck, so who cares?” He drinks about half of the pouch in one sip and holds it out to Steve again. “Wanna try? I’ll share. I’m nice like that.”

“I think I’ll stick with my actual juice. But thank you.”

“Your loss.” Bucky drains the rest of the juice, crinkling up the pouch in his fist and dropping it in the trash can.

Steve goes back to the stove, stirring whatever’s in the pan. It smells fucking delicious, but then, everything Steve cooks does. Course, he supposes if he were raised on… whatever sad boiled food they had in the thirties, he might put effort into learning good cooking. It’s hard to remember sometimes, that Steve is _not_ just a regular guy. That there’s not a single person on earth that could possibly relate to the life he’s lived. Steve doesn’t talk a lot about growing up or the war, and Bucky doesn’t want to push. He’d like to know more, sure, but god. Steve has had the whole world begging for him to tell them everything about his life. So Bucky won’t be one of them, asking for things that Steve maybe doesn’t want to give away. If Steve wants to talk about it, then he will. 

“So, how was your day?” Steve asks, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Uh, it was fine.” Bucky shifts Estelle to his other arm, turning her to face outwards since she wants to kick her feet. “Actually. Um.” He runs his hand through his hair, pushing the stray strands away from his forehead. “So, I was wondering if the offer to watch Estelle in the evening still stands?”

Steve’s brows furrow. “Sure, Buck. Why do you ask?”

“Well, not this Monday but _next_ Monday is my birthday. So Aiden wants to go out clubbing on Friday since I can’t really go _out_ on my actual birthday.” As soon as he says it, it hits him that the words are kind of exclusionary. Like he doesn’t _want_ Steve there when that’s the farthest thing from the truth. He’d love to take Steve out for a spin on the dance floor. “I mean, you’re more than welcome to come out with us! I can find a sitter for her.”

Steve grins, shaking his head. “I’m good, Buck. I went into one club since I was defrosted and I didn’t even stay five minutes. Too loud, too many people, too flashy.” He flips off the burner, moving the pan to the back of the stove. “You go out and have fun and Estelle and I will be here when you get back. You should have told me your birthday is coming up though.”

“Why?” Bucky teases, sitting Estelle on the edge of the island. He keeps both hands on her so she’s not in any danger of falling, but he doesn’t give her too much support. Over the past couple of weeks, she’s gotten better and better at sitting. She’s still kind of roly poly, but she’s learning to stabilize herself when she starts to lean too far to one side or the other. As scary as it is to think it, it’s not gonna be long before she’s sitting on her own. Maybe not even two weeks. “Did you want to plan a surprise party for me?”

“Maybe,” Steve says, vaguely. He opens the oven, pulling a dish out and setting it on the cooling rack.

When he pulls up the foil, Bucky perks up. “Is that pot roast?” He hasn’t had a good pot roast in… god. Maybe six years? It had been before he’d gone to college, for sure. His mom used to make one on Sundays sometimes, having the whole place smelling like heaven when they got home from church. But only coming home during the holidays and summer meant holiday foods or foods that didn’t take hours in the oven, heating up the whole apartment in the middle of the hottest months of the year. 

“Yep. I put some carrots and potatoes in the pan with it so we have those and,” he points at the pan he’d been stirring, “caramelized brussel sprouts. And I made rolls this afternoon.”

“You’re honestly the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.” Bucky’s mouth is already watering from the description alone. He picks up Estelle again, going to get the plates down from the cabinet. Steve’s got a bright blush across his cheeks and Bucky grins at him. “Steven Rogers,” he says, “you’re simply the best. I don’t know anyone better.”

“You’re just hungry.” Steve takes the plates from him and starts carving slices off the roast, rolling his eyes. But his face and neck get pinker. Bucky desperately wants to see how far down that blush goes.

“Starving, actually,” he mutters under his breath. When Estelle tries to grab for the hot pan, he steps back from the counter. “Is it about time for her bottle?”

“Yeah, there’s one in the warmer. I made it up right before you got home, it should be ready. How much vegetables do you want?”

Bucky glances over at the plate Steve is holding, the tidy pile of carrots and potatoes next to the meat. “That’s good. I can always come back for seconds.” He pulls the bottle from the warmer, shaking it up and testing the temperature on his wrist. Estelle reaches for it, whining when Bucky doesn’t let her have it until he’s sure it’s not too warm. He moves her around to recline in the crook of his arm, tipping the bottle into her mouth. She gets both hands on the bottle, ‘helping’ him and sucking greedily. “Steve, my baby is growing up,” he swallows hard. “I’m gonna blink and she’ll be graduating high school.”

“Don’t even say it.” Steve points a pair of tongs at him, wide eyed. “That’s terrifying.”

“It’s true,” Bucky says morosely. “How did we get here? I swear I was just having a breakdown in a hospital waiting room because I didn’t know what the hell I was doing but I wasn’t gonna let them put her in the foster system. And now she’s gonna be five months old in less than two weeks.” 

“Well, it is February. So if it was a regular month, you’d have a few extra days.”

“Fuck February then.”

***

He makes it through another week of work and as Friday approaches, he gets more and more excited. It’s just that he hasn’t been _out_ in so long and even when he had been going, it had been when he’d been in an awful headspace. Going out with Aiden is fun, it’s safe, and for the first time since October, he’s going to get drunk. On Friday morning, he goes through everything in the closet at least twice, trying to decide what looks hottest on him. Surprisingly enough, he’s not interested in getting laid tonight. Well, at least not with anyone he might meet at a bar. But looking good means free drinks, so he gets into the clothes that he hasn’t worn since before Estelle came into his life. He packs the outfit in his bag to change into, the skin tight leather pants that have laces up the sides of the thighs and the flowy white button up sheer shirt. The combination makes him feel vaguely like a pirate, but it looks damn good on him and he knows it. And so does everyone else. 

They have quite a while between when they get off work and when the clubs open, so he goes over to Aiden’s studio apartment with him. They order chinese and sit on the floor playing Mario Kart, just like they had in college. Bucky hits Aiden with a red shell and sails into first place and past the finish line.

“Fuck!” Aiden drops his remote and glares at him. “How do you _always_ do that?”

Bucky smirks, picking up the carton of fried rice. “Being a Mario Kart boss is just one of my many marketable skills.” He shovels down a few bites and pulls out his phone when it dings. There’s a notification waiting, a picture message from Steve. When he opens it, his heart flips. It’s a bathroom mirror selfie, Estelle wrapped up in her purple towel that has bunny ears on the hood. She’s smiling up at Steve, patting his cheek.

**From Real Life Teddy Bear: Estelle told me to tell you to have fun tonight! If you need me to come pick you up from anywhere, all you have to do is call.**

Clutching the phone to his chest, he flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m gonna marry him.”

“Okay, but have you even told him how you feel?”

“I’m gonna. Eventually. When I’m not living with him.” As much as he’s dreading moving out, he’s started looking at apartment listings. Trying to work out the maximum he can spend in rent each month, trying to find a decent fucking apartment. “That way if it fucks everything up, well. At least it’ll be somewhat less awkward.”

“Unless you drink tequila tonight.” Nothing good ever happens when Bucky gets ahold of that- namely, it makes him handsy and horny. Not so much with strangers, but if he’s around someone he likes, it’s hard to keep his hands to himself and he does _not_ want to go home like that. He’d give away everything he feels in a second. 

Bucky glares at him. “I’m _serious_ , Aiden. This isn’t like… it’s not just a crush. It’s not someone trivial. I can’t just risk it like that. Christ, Estelle is more attached to him than she is to me.” He shows the text to Aiden. It doesn’t bother him, really, that Steve can comfort Estelle when Bucky can’t. Mostly it just makes his insides melt into a little puddle to see Steve cradling her close and gently soothing her, calling her _angel_. But that’s exactly why he has to tread carefully. For Estelle’s sake. He does want to tell Steve how he feels, but it has to wait. 

Aiden half smiles at the picture, shaking his head. “I know you’re fucking hard headed, but Jamie. Jesus, let me get this right. The guy offers to babysit for _free_ , buys a shit ton of stuff and builds a whole luxury nursery for your kid, nurses you and Estelle back to health when you’re sick, asks you to move in with him but doesn’t ask you to pay rent or utilities or groceries. Am I missing anything?” 

“We maybe cuddle at night….” Bucky mumbles.

“You are the biggest dumbass I’ve ever met.”

“It helps him sleep better!” 

“Because he loves you!” Aiden huffs, exasperation all over his face. Even though he’d barely spent time with Steve, he’s convinced that he’s right in this theory.

But Bucky just isn’t so sure. He _hopes_ , sure he does. But he can’t risk it, he can’t. “He loves Estelle.” They’re just… a package deal. 

“He’s literally your sugar daddy but he isn’t pressuring you for sugar. That’s love.” A slow smirk settles on Aiden’s face. “So, how do you feel about the beard?”

Bucky groans, covering his face with his hands. The _fucking_ beard. He could write poetry dedicated to the beard. It haunts his every thought, visions of it behind his eyelids late at night and in the shower in the mornings. When Steve rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder as he falls asleep and Bucky can feel the soft hair brushing against his skin, it drives him crazy. He _wants_. More, more, more. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s okay. It’s almost time to get ready and head out anyway. Oh! I got you something.”

Sitting up, Bucky drops his hands to his lap and watches as Aiden jumps up and goes to grab a plastic bag from the counter by the sink. Bucky’s eyes widen as Aiden pulls out not just a sparkly tiara but also a bright pink sash that both read _BIRTHDAY GIRL._ “Tell me you didn’t.” 

Aiden grins.“The party store I stopped by last night only had this or _sweet sixteen_ and the goal is free drinks here. You still have a bit of a baby face, so I went with birthday girl.” 

“I hate you.”

Bucky goes into the bathroom to change out of his work clothes and when he emerges, Aiden wolf whistles, waggling his eyebrows. “If that doesn’t get your man to tell you how he feels, I don’t know what will.”

“I fully intend to get drunk tonight, Aiden. If he tells me anything, I probably won’t even remember it in the morning.” Bucky struggles shoving his wallet into his front pocket. It’s deep enough to hold it, but the pants are tight enough to make him work to get it in there. His phone goes in his jacket and he hooks his keys around one of his belt loops. Everything else, he’s leaving here. He’ll stop back by and pick it up before heading home or he’ll get it from Aiden on Monday if he forgets. 

It’s fucking cold out as they wait for their Uber to pull up- despite his thick jacket, Bucky is shivering, wrapped in freezing, slick leather from the waist down. The car finally pulls up and they squeeze into the backseat and greet the driver and Aiden turns to him, pulling a black pencil out of his jacket pocket. “Jesus,” Bucky raises his brows. “C’mon, I haven’t worn eyeliner since college.”

“All the more reason to wear it tonight.” Aiden pops the cap off the end, cupping the side of Bucky’s face in his free hand. “Close your eyes.”

“We’re in a moving car.” Bucky complains, but does as he’s told. The soft end of the pencil drags along his lash line, followed by Aiden’s finger, smudging the kohl purposely. “Where are we going, precisely?” He asks when Aiden is finished, leaning back.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve scouted all the best clubs in the city-”

“I _highly_ doubt that.”

“-and I have gathered recommendations from a bunch of people and I’ve got a couple of places picked out. It’s a _surprise_. You’re gonna have fun, just trust me.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, settling back against the upholstery and pulling out his phone. He hadn’t actually replied to the message earlier and he types out and deletes about five different responses, unhappy with all of them. He’s excited to be going out, he is. But he’s also staring at that picture and part of him _aches_ and wants nothing more than to be at home with his baby and the man he loves. Eventually he manages to write out a reply, but it still feels inadequate. 

**To Real Life Teddy Bear: give her a goodnight kiss from me :(( we r on our way to the club now and i’ll prob b out until like 1-1:30ish u don’t have to wait up if ur sleepy**

The response from Steve pops up almost immediately.

**From Real Life Teddy Bear: Can’t sleep until I know you’re home safe. Have fun!!!**

Bucky swallows around the lump in his throat as he locks his phone, shoving it back in his jacket pocket and staring out the window. There’s nothing quite like New York, especially on Friday night. There’s an _energy_ \- the chaos of the city ramped up, fluorescent in the twilight. When the car pulls up to the curb outside the club, there’s already a line waiting but it isn’t too long at least. Bucky lets Aiden mess up his hair and settle the tiara on his head, but opts to hold onto the sash until they’re actually inside. The entire place is lit up neon on the outside and even though Bucky hasn’t been to this particular club before, he knows well what to expect when he gets inside. Strobing lights, pulsing music, a crush of people dancing. 

They head to the back of the line and Bucky crosses his arms tight over his chest, blowing out a huff of air visible in the cold. Luckily it moves fast and they show their IDs, pay the cover fee and they’re through the door. They stop by the coat room to drop off their jackets and Bucky shoves his phone into his pant pocket, looping the sash around his body. 

He can already feel the bass line of some Lady Gaga song vibrating through him as they edge around the half filled dance floor, heading for the bar. “I’m gonna be so fuckin’ hungover tomorrow,” he mutters, too low to hear. Aiden has two shots in hand already when Bucky comes up next to him. He passes one to Bucky and they both drink. Bucky winces as the alcohol burns its way down. Straight fuckin’ vodka. “Getting right into it?” He shouts to be heard over the music. 

“You know it!”

They aren’t at the bar for more than two minutes before their next round is bought by some guy a few stools down, who’s eyeing Bucky like a piece of meat. He raises the shot glass in a toast, smiling flirtily, like there’s a single way in hell that he would ever go home with him, even if he was looking. The guy looks like he’s probably holding a fish on his Tinder profile. But hey, free drinks. 

After their third shot, when Bucky turns to look over the crowd on the dance floor, he’s feeling it. That easy lethargy making his limbs loose, warmth spreading through him, radiating out from his chest. His vision unfocused in the flashing lights. “Let’s dance,” he tugs on Aiden’s sleeve, pulling him toward the throng of moving bodies. They’re blaring Toxic by Britney Spears and Bucky closes his eyes and just… lets his body take over. He’d spent many a house party in college pressed against strangers, dancing to music just like this. Before his life had taken such a sharp turn. 

They stay on the floor for a few songs and then go back to the bar for a little while. Eventually they end up on the floor again and it’s packed this time, sweaty bodies pressing everywhere. Aiden is dancing next to him and there’s a group of girls in front of him, flushed and laughing. They don’t know each other and probably will never cross paths after tonight but here they’re friends. Bucky takes one of the girls’ hand and twirls her under his arm in time with the music. 

“Happy birthday!” She shouts, brushing her pink hair out of her eyes.

“Thanks!” Bucky smiles, stumbling forward a step when someone bumps into him. 

They dance together for a while and get another round of shots and then invited back to the girls’ booth. Bucky sips at the pink cocktail that the waiter brings by- whatever the girls are drinking. It’s sweet and good and sober him would care to know what exactly is in it, but tipsy him doesn’t, so he downs it. 

One of the girls- blonde with big silver hoop earrings- leans across the table, squirting at him. “I recognize you from somewhere.”

“I was thinking the same thing!” The girl that Bucky had been dancing with exclaims, throwing her arms wide. She very nearly sweeps their drinks right off the table and bursts into a fit of giggles when she notices. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere.”

It’s not rocket science to figure out where they might know him from. Bucky glances over at Aiden, eyes wide, but all he does is shrug and go back to sweet talking the girl he’s got nearly in his lap. Bucky rolls his eyes. Another reason they hadn’t worked out. With them both being the bisexual disasters that they were, young and not really caring about commitment, their eyes had strayed to other people far too often. Not that either of them ever cheated when they were exclusive, but they were more on again-off again. He clears his throat, grabbing a napkin to wipe up the spill on the table top from one of the drinks. “I’m not anyone special, I promise. Maybe we crossed paths in the store or something?”

“No, no,” the blonde shakes her head, “it’s right on the tip of my tongue, I just….”

“ _Oh,_ ” pink hair slaps her hand over her mouth, staring at Bucky. She glances over at her friend. “Kailey, he’s the guy that’s dating Captain America.”

“ _Holy shit!_ ” Kailey gasps. “Oh my god, Yaz, you’re right.” She pulls her phone out, already typing furiously.

“Uh, I’m right here.” Bucky huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “And I’m not dating Captain America, just so you know.” And it seems like Yaz has lost all interest in her drink, so he picks it up and gulps down the rest of what’s in the glass. “Jesus.”

Kailey flips her phone around, the article about the grocery store already pulled up on the screen. “That’s _you_.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond. “You should start an Instagram page for the baby. She’s really cute, I bet you could get so many followers. Especially with the Captain America thing, shit. People love to see a buff man with a baby.”

“I’m not going to use my kid for fucking clout,” Bucky snaps, standing up. He sways, the floor rolling under his feet. “Christ, what was in those drinks?”

“They were just cherry margaritas.…” Yaz says, cautiously.

“Oh, fuck my life.” He swallows, mouth dry, cottony. Fuckin’ margaritas. Fuckin’ tequila. He squints at his phone screen, the time reading just past midnight. It’s early enough that most people are probably barely getting started, but he just wants to go home. Damn the consequences of the drink. It’s just that easy for people to recognize him in public, to make assumptions about his private life and tell him what they want to see him do, like he’s some fucking public figure. “Aiden, I wanna go home.”

The girl is in Aiden’s lap now, mouthing across the side of his neck, but at Bucky’s words he starts to pull away. “Okay, um. I’ll order an Uber, hang on.” He looks a little disappointed, but he doesn’t try to change his mind.

And Bucky doesn’t have the heart to pull him away from what seems to be shaping up to be a very good night. “No,” he sighs and shakes his head. “You stay and have fun. ‘M just tired. I’ll grab my stuff from you on Monday.”

“Are you sure? I’ll come with you.”

“No, it’s okay.” Bucky presses the heel of his hand against his forehead, the room spinning slightly. “‘M gonna… ‘m gonna go home.” 

Aiden purses his lips but nods. “Okay, but text me when you get there so I know you made it back safe.”

“‘Kay.” He pushes his way through the crowd, heading for the entrance. As he waits for the Lyft he’d ordered to arrive, he stops by the bathroom. He hadn’t even noticed it, but his bladder is about to burst. When the ride finally gets there, he grabs his coat and thankfully flops into the backseat of the car, groaning. 

“Please don’t throw up in my car,” the woman in the driver's seat looks back at him warily. 

“Not gonna throw up.” He rubs his hand over his eyes. That’s one thing he can say for himself… he’s never been so wasted that he’s puked. “Do you have any water?”

She passes him a plastic bottle and he downs about half of it as they pull out into traffic. Time kind of blurs, the ride simultaneously taking forever and no time at all. He spends most of the ride slumped against the door, sipping on the rest of the water. When they finally pull up outside the apartment, he thanks her and lets himself out, only staggering a little. He doesn’t feel the cold so much at least. He lets himself in the building, greets the doorman, and takes the elevator up to their floor. As he’s trying to unlock the door, he keeps fumbling the keys, missing the lock. “Fuck.”

The knob turns, door opening as Bucky starts another unlocking attempt. “You’re back early,” Steve says softly, eyes wide and tracking over Bucky. He’s wearing a white t-shirt so thin it’s nearly transparent and loose sweatpants and Bucky wants to climb him like a tree.

“Steve!” He flings himself against Steve’s chest, wrapping his arms around his neck. It forces Steve to stumble back a few steps, which is just fine with Bucky since it means they’re actually in the apartment now instead of the doorway. He kicks the door shut behind him, not letting go for a second. It’s so easy to press his face against the curve of Steve’s neck, beard scratching softly against his skin, and inhale. “Mm, you smell good.”

“...Thank you.” Steve says, cautiously. “Maybe we should get you some water.”

“Noooo,” Bucky tightens his hold, dragging his nose up the side of Steve’s neck, up to his ear. “I have a secret,” he whispers, “not ‘sposed to say it, but. Can you keep a secret, Stevie?” Steve leans back, brows furrowed as he looks into Bucky’s eyes- into his _soul_. God, his eyes are so pretty. Blue like the fuckin’ ocean, fringed by unfairly long lashes.

“Is it your secret to tell?”

“Mm,” Bucky hums, one hand coming up to brush just under Steve’s eye with the pad of his thumb. “It’s a big secret.” He drops his hand, pushing his fingers through Steve’s coarse beard hairs. It’s not quite as soft as it looks, but Bucky doesn’t care. “You’re… so unfair.” All this beard, all that muscle, _so_ much potential. 

“I don’t know what you mean. Let’s get you some water.”

“Don’ leave me, Stevie.” Bucky whines, clutching tight. 

“I’m not, we’re just moving to the kitchen-”

“I can’t walk.”

“Bucky.”

He smiles slow, tucking his face against Steve’s shoulder. “You… you gotta carry me. Legs broke.” Since the very first time he’d met Steve the thought had taunted him. That Steve could manhandle him without even _trying_. It’s a _fantastic_ idea, really. Perfect time to test it out. “Please, Stevie?”

Steve sucks in a breath, stilling. Slowly, oh so slowly, his hands drop to the backs of Bucky’s leather clad thighs. “You’re so drunk,” he says softly, and lifts.

“Told ‘em not to let me drink tequila.” Bucky grins, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist. Jesus, it’s like he weighs nothing, the way Steve’s holding him. That’s so sexy of him, god. Bucky could happily stay right here forever. “But,” he giggles, “got ahold of it anyway, didn’t I?”

They’re moving now, heading for the kitchen. “What’s wrong with tequila?” 

Bucky blinks as Steve sets him on the countertop and steps back, hands gently dislodging Bucky’s hold on him. This wasn’t part of the plan of staying in Steve’s arms forever. He frowns. “Why’d you leave me?”

Steve pulls open one of the cabinets and gets down a glass, filling it with water from the refrigerator. “I’m just getting this,” he steps back between Bucky’s legs, handing him the glass. “Drink.”

He takes the water, gulping it down as fast as possible so he can get it over with and get Steve to carry him again. “‘M not _that_ drunk.” He puts the now empty glass down on the counter and loops his arms around Steve’s shoulders again. “You. You’d know if I was. Fuckin’ tequila. I’m keepin’ it together, I think. So. That's something.” Steve licks his lips and Bucky tracks the movement avidly. He could totally kiss Steve right now. It would be so easy to just lean forward into Steve’s space, tilt his chin up and get a taste of him. God, he probably tastes so good. Like… hmm. Probably like sugar because he’s so damn sweet it makes Bucky ache. 

“Bucky,” Steve says, and huh. He’s closer now, his nose brushing against Bucky’s, their foreheads pressed together. Maybe Bucky should ease up on his grip, he’s pulled him in. Convenient for kissing, though. His lips are _right there_. “What does tequila do?”

“This.” Bucky breathes, closing his eyes. “Makes me... hm, like this. Touchy. Don’ you wanna kiss me, Stevie? It doesn’t have to mean nothin’.”

One second Steve is there and the next he’s completely pulled out of Bucky’s hold, out of his space, out of his reach. His brows are furrowed, lips turning down at the corners. That’s so not what was supposed to happen. “Bucky, you’re drunk.” He says, shaking his head. “I can’t- I.” His chest rises and falls, deep breath like he’s steadying himself. “I think we should go to bed.”

Bucky’s mouth falls open. This is turning out better than he had even dared hope for. He slides down from the counter top, steps toward Steve on unsteady feet. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“To _sleep_.” Steve catches him, firm hands on his shoulders. “It’s late and you’re wasted, Bucky. I’m not gonna-”

“Do you not even want me just a little bit?” Pathetically, his lower lip is trembling. He’d hoped… but. Just because Steve is okay with Bucky being attracted to men doesn’t mean that he shares the sentiment. 

Steve groans, pulling Bucky into a tight hug. He rests his chin on Bucky’s shoulder, firm hand rubbing up and down his back. “It’s the alcohol talking, Buck. You’re not gonna feel the same in the morning. C’mon, let's go to sleep.” 

“...I might need help getting out of my pants.”

***

Being awake is so overrated. Bucky heaves into the toilet, head fucking pounding, and wonders where he’d gone wrong with his life. When he’d woken, Steve was already up with Estelle- he could hear Steve singing to her from the other room- and there was a glass of water and a couple of pills on the nightstand with a note for Bucky to take them. But that hadn’t stopped him from ending up here. His memories of the night before are blurry, vague recollections. Dancing and then getting angry and leaving. He thinks Steve might have carried him. God.

He flushes the toilet, cringing at the loud noise and hauls himself upright. He looks like absolute shit, wearing nothing but his briefs. Hair wild and face slightly grey, yesterday's eyeliners smeared.. Really, he should just drown himself right now so he doesn’t have to face the consequences of whatever happened last night. Something in his gut tells him it wasn’t good. He splashes water over his face and brushes his teeth even though it nearly makes him puke again. Fuck hangovers, honestly. 

Even after dawdling under the hot water in the shower, he only feels infinitesimally better. His stomach isn’t rolling as much but his head is still throbbing, every noise way too loud. Hopefully the pain killers will kick in fully and breakfast will knock the rest of it but right now he is having a solidly bad time. He pulls on a set of sweats and pads into the kitchen, squinting in the light. Steve is sitting at the bar, bouncing Estelle on his knee and eating from the plate in front of him one handed. “Morning,” Bucky mumbles, looking over the food laid out on the counters. This is gonna be another one of those things that will be a horrible adjustment when he moves out. Steve is _always_ awake before him and _always_ cooks enough food for a household of ten. It’s because he has to consume so many calories for the serum and because he believes breakfast to be the most important meal of the day. Regardless, the first morning back in his own apartment when he wakes up and the kitchen is cold and empty, it’s gonna make the heartbreak even worse.

“How do you feel?” Steve asks cautiously as Bucky starts piling bacon on his plate. “You were… pretty drunk when you came home.”

“My head is killing me.” He pours some coffee into a mug and gulps it down black, desperate for the caffeine. “What happened?”

Steve hesitates, poking at his eggs, a blush staining his cheeks. That does _not_ bode well. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “You… um. You said you had tequila.”

“Oh _god._ ” He remembers that now, the cherry margaritas they’d had in the booth. Fuck his entire life. That was exactly what he didn’t want to happen. He bends at the waist, hiding his face in his folded arms on the countertops. “Tell me I didn’t try to jump your bones. _Fuuuck_.” Steve doesn’t even have to say it. He doesn’t know _what_ exactly happened- besides Steve carrying him, he’s sure of that- but quite frankly. He’d had a crush on Aiden and after about four tequila slammers, he’d had no inhibitions left. They’d gotten together that night. And seeing as he clearly didn’t have the same result with Steve….

“It’s fine, Bucky. You were just a little handsy. Made a few suggestive comments. I know it was just the alcohol speaking so don’t even worry about it.” 

The earnestness in Steve’s voice forces Bucky to lift his head, to stare incredulously at him. “Whatever I said… I’m well aware it was probably highly inappropriate. Being drunk doesn’t excuse that. I’m _sorry._ ” He rubs his hand over his eyes, looking down at his untouched plate. 

“It’s okay,” Steve says. He reaches across the countertop, covering Bucky’s hand with his own and squeezing lightly.

“It isn’t.”

“Bucky. One time when I was drunk I allegedly did a burlesque show in an underground queer bar.”

Bucky gapes at him. “Allegedly?”

“Well,” a smile flashes across Steve’s face. “I was _very_ drunk. I was friends with the fella that ran the establishment and he’d let me drink for free if I helped him do the bookkeeping since the guy that owned the place wouldn’t agree to hire anyone else. So I was there a lot. Knew all of the regulars and the performers. They were having a drag night, I don’t know. I remember being at the bar and Connie telling me I didn’t even need lipstick because my lips were already damn pink and uh.” He glances up at Bucky and shrugs. “Woke up the next morning in the cot in the storeroom, wearing garters and a bustier.”

“You-” Bucky sputters, blinking at him. This is… so much to process. “You’re-” Him being at the bar doesn’t necessarily mean he’s anything but straight though. He’d said he did the books in exchange for free drinks. That’s motivation enough to be there. “What’s a bustier?”

“Like a corset, kind of. But it came down to mid thigh and instead of stopping just below the bust it had a built in brassiere.” 

Thats. Yeah, that’s something to think about. Bucky refills his coffee and rounds the island to sit on the stool next to Steve. When he sits down, Estelle reaches for him, whining. He takes her from Steve and hugs her close, pressing the side of his face to her curls. “Steve Rogers, you surprise me more and more every day.” He _loves_ these little insights into who Steve is. “So what happened next?”

“Found my real clothes on a stool at the foot of the cot, got dressed, and went to work. I was doing window advertisements. My friend filled me in on what happened later. I just ended up dressed up and singing a song. The _point_ is that I’m the last person in the world to judge on things you do while drunk that you wouldn’t do sober.”

Bucky huffs, picking up a slice of bacon. “I’m still sorry about it.” And because he can’t help but dig his grave just a little deeper, he cautiously asks, “You said gay bar… um. Obviously, like, I know there's history of the community but I didn’t know it was so- I didn’t know there were places like that back then.”

“Brooklyn was….” Steve smiles sadly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t take it back, you know. If I had the chance. I wouldn’t want to go back to the past. But despite everything good here, I still miss it. Brooklyn was _alive_ with all kinds of people. It was an open secret. Sure, there were still raids, there was still danger. But if you were part of the family, you’d always know where to find them. Everyone stood up for each other. Brooklyn Heights was a very different place back then. It’s been so gentrified now that you can’t tell but this neighborhood was a slum when I grew up. It was full of everyone that wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else.” He takes a bite of his eggs, brows furrowed. “Not that it isn’t still full of diversity. It just… maybe it’s because I’m an outsider now but it’s lost the feeling of family. Everyone knowing everyone else. If that makes sense?”

“I get it. Didn’t I tell you the day we met that New York is full of bad people who want to take advantage of the good ones?”

“But not you.”

“I feel like I am, sometimes.” Face it, he pretty much is. He’s living in Steve’s house, eating food that Steve has cooked, relying on him for babysitting. What does he have to offer in return? Drunken pickup lines, apparently? 

“Nah.” Steve rolls his eyes, nudging him with his elbow. “You’re one of the good ones.”

***

Despite Steve’s reassurances, Bucky spends most of the weekend quietly agonizing over that night. He’s relieved when Monday morning comes and he’s headed back to work. When he comes out of the bedroom, Steve is waiting with a cheesy grin and a chocolate chip muffin with a candle burning. “I can’t believe you.”

“Happy birthday,” Steve holds the muffin out, “now make a wish.”

He does his best to heave a put upon sigh, but he can’t help the smile that curls the corners of his lips. Even though he’s gotten past his melodramatic years where he’d spent _several_ birthdays depressed when people stopped paying as much attention to them as they had when he was younger, it’s nice to have something so simple as a candle to blow out that he hadn’t had to facilitate himself. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, leaning in. “I wish-”

“You can’t _say_ it or it won’t come true.”

“You know what, Rogers-”

“Candle’s burning, Buck.”

If his eyes weren’t closed he’d roll them. He wishes, like every birthday before, for something he’s unlikely to ever get. As a child, he’d wanted a skateboard, knowing his mother would never let him have one. Now, he wants exactly what he has, just a different version of it. Not hung in the in between of what exactly they are. As it is, he can’t give up hoping and at the same time he doesn’t see this ever leading anywhere. He just… wants to know. He blows gently, opening his eyes as the smoke curls up from the extinguished wick. “Happy now?”

Steve plucks the candle from the muffin and puts it in Bucky’s open palm. “Not yet. But the rest will come later.”

“What are you planning?” Bucky eyes him suspiciously, biting into the muffin. It’s still warm, the chocolate chips gooey in his mouth. He follows Steve back into the kitchen, the smell of fresh coffee drawing him.

“You’ll find out.” Steve glances over his shoulder, half smiling. “Hey, I’m gonna pick you up when you get off, though. We’ve got places to be.”

Bucky gets down his coffee thermos from the cabinet, humming assent. It’s no use asking where they’re going so he’ll just have to be along for the ride. He fills up the thermos and sets it aside and makes another cup to drink while he eats breakfast. Aside from the muffins, there are sausages and hash browns. Since Aiden still has his bag with all his work stuff, he shoots off a quick text reminding him not to forget it when he comes to the office. “You know this means I’m gonna have to do some kind of surprise for your birthday, too, right?”

“You don’t even know when my birthday is,” Steve smirks. 

He opens his mouth to say yes, he does, actually. But before the words leave his lips, it occurs to him that maybe he doesn’t. History built up Steve to be only what they wanted him to be; it makes sense that they would fix his birthday to fit that image. “You weren’t actually born on the Fourth of July, were you?”

“Nah.” He shakes his head, licking a smear of chocolate off of his thumb. Bucky swallows. “Fourth of August, actually.”

“Good to know. And, ah… how old will you be this year?”

“Ninety six.”

“ _Biologically_.” Bucky kicks his ankle lightly. “You know what I mean.”

Steve’s lips twitch, mischief all over his face. “Twenty nine.” 

Even though he knew Steve was young- yes, older than Bucky but still _young_ by anyone’s definition- it’s still sobering to be reminded of it. To think about the fact that he _was_ younger than Bucky when he was fighting in World War II. Barely older than Bucky is now when he completed a suicide mission and woke up seventy years in the future. And then the aliens came. God, it must have been fucking terrifying. And yet he’s kept going. Bucky’s not sure he could have, if it had been him in that position. It makes him love Steve all the more. “How does it feel to be nearly middle aged?”

“You’re not even three years behind me, watch your mouth, Birthday Boy.” Steve rolls his eyes but his brows furrow and he swallows hard. “Bucky, I-” he pokes at his hash browns, not looking up. “You realize I may never… I mean. Nobody quite knows what the serum will do in the long run. I haven’t really physically aged since I got it but it’s been less than five years.”

Bucky takes a breath, reaching over to squeeze Steve’s wrist lightly. “However it ends up working out, you’ve got me on your side, you know?” He smiles slightly. “As long as you don’t start bullying me when I get wrinkled and stooped and you still look like a Calvin Klein model.”

“I don’t look like-”

“Lying isn’t nice, Rogers.”

The conversation gets lighter as they finish their breakfast. Estelle wakes up just as Bucky is washing his plate so he dries his hands and goes to get her up, changing her diaper and taking her into the kitchen where Steve is waiting with a bottle ready. Bucky’s gotta get going or he’s gonna miss his train so he kisses her forehead and hands her off, grabbing his coffee and coat. 

Aiden meets him in the lobby of the tower and hands him his bag. “Thanks for letting me know you’re alive, you dick. I told you to text me when you got home from the bar. Happy birthday, by the way.”

“And I told you not to let me drink tequila.” Bucky hits the button for the elevator, shouldering his bag. “Thanks.”

“What happened?”

“God.” He rubs his hand over his face, shaking his head. “I’m not _entirely_ sure. I definitely hit on him but nothing happened. He brushed it all off the next morning, so. Whatever, I guess I have my answer. Sort of. I don’t know. This is so frustrating.” When the doors slide open, they step in. “He’s picking me up this afternoon. We’re doing something for my birthday but he won’t tell me what.”

“Romantic.”

“ _Whatever_. How was your weekend? Did you hook up with that girl?”

“Yeah. She left before I woke up though and didn’t leave her number,” Aiden shrugs. “It is what it is.” He pushes his fingers through his hair, combing it off his forehead. “Hey, where do you get your hair cut? I gotta do something with this mop.”

“I’ll text you the place.” The elevator stops on Aiden’s floor so they say goodbye, agreeing on a lunch spot. Bucky taps his fingers against the railing as he waits to reach his own work floor. They’re close to making a breakthrough on the prosthetics program and soon they’ll be able to start actual trials. The legal team is already working on jumping through the hoops they need to set that up. But it’s exciting to be part of something that is going to change how prosthetics work forever. The lives that will be made better by this. Even if he’s not so much the brains behind it, he’s still part of it. A cog in the machine that makes up a whole. 

He sets up his workstation, booting up his laptop and plugging it in since the battery is just about dead. Only a couple of his other coworkers have arrived, already absorbed in their own work. They’re not exactly unfriendly, but he hasn’t made much more than acquaintances with any of them. They’re just more interested in what they’re working on than with socializing. And they’ve all been here longer than him. So as time goes on, he’ll probably get closer with at least some of them. No one seems to dislike him, at least. 

Doctor Bruce Banner comes down after lunch and gathers them all around to start briefing them on the latest information regarding the neurolink. It takes a _while_ , but it’s interesting. He makes note of plenty of things he’d like to research on his own. Dr. Banner is still chatting with a couple of the others while Bucky packs up his stuff, but when Steve walks into the room, Estelle on his hip, he excuses himself to go and greet him. 

Bucky shoulders his bag and walks over to them, already holding his arms out. Estelle leans out of Steve’s arms and Bucky catches her, swinging her up high and grinning when she laughs. “You didn’t have to come up,” he says, propping her on his forearm as he looks up at Steve. “I could’a met you in the garage like before.”

“I tried calling.”

“Shit. My bad.” Bucky pulls his phone from his pocket. It’s over half an hour past his usual time to leave and he’s got a couple missed calls and texts from Steve. “I was kind of absorbed in what we were doing.”

“Glad to know someone was paying attention,” Dr. Banner jokes. “I think everyone else here has a case of the Mondays. Maybe I should have sent Tony to do the technical talk.” He huffs a laugh, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve been told I’m not _animated_ enough.”

“I think you’re a good technical talker.” Bucky tells him loyally. He hasn’t spent much time around the doctor, but he does genuinely like him. The guy seems a little over stressed most of the time but that probably comes with the territory of having the Hulk as your alter ego. “I’m gonna read up on so much of what you said when I get home.”

“Uh, did you forget?” Steve presses his hand to his chest, mock offended. “It’s your birthday. We’re doing something fun.”

“Oh, happy birthday.” Dr. Banner pats Bucky on the shoulder. “I won’t keep you, then. It was good seeing you, Steve. You should come by more often. Tony’s always trying to get the gang to come have dinner and such.” He holds out his hand.

Steve shakes it, pursing his lips. “I know, I just… me and Tony- when we’re together in person we don’t really-” 

“Hey, I get it. You don’t have to justify anything to me.” Bruce smiles. “It’s probably for the better right now anyway. He had a field day over that article, I don’t know if you saw it. If you came over I can’t guarantee there wouldn’t be a photo cake.”

Bucky’s face flares hot and he ducks his head, clearing his throat. If Steve saw that fucking article-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve says, “but I wouldn’t put anything past Tony. I get lunch with Nat and Clint sometimes, though. You’re welcome to join us whenever. Let me know.”

Bucky stays quiet as they head down to the garage. It’s been warming up over the past few days, an undeniable reminder that it’s nearly spring. The days are ticking down. He’s got an apartment tour scheduled for next Saturday in Red Hook. He straps Estelle into her carseat, handing her a soft toy before getting into the passenger seat. “Still not telling me where we’re going?”

“Nope, that would ruin the point of a _surprise_.” Steve grins over at him, cheeky and bright eyed and Bucky loves him, loves him, loves him. “And even if you start guessing, I’m not saying either way.”

“I genuinely have no guesses anyway.” Bucky fiddles with the aux cord, connecting his phone to the radio and scrolling through his playlists. “Wanna listen to anything in particular?”

“I’m not picky.”

Bucky knows that. He also knows that Steve has taste and as such, has a weakness for classic rock. So he shuffles his 60s-80s playlist and sets his phone on the edge of the seat as I Can’t Drive 55 starts playing through the speakers. It gets a smile on Steve’s face and Bucky hides his own grin by looking out his window. “So, not even a hint?”

“Bucky.”

“ _Fine_ , fine.” He taps his foot in time with the beat, as Steve starts singing along with the music under his breath. Estelle is making her own version of music in the backseat- just baby babbles, imitating sounds. She’s started doing that lately. No real words but it’s the first step toward them. Just another thing that Bucky wants to freeze time for. She’s growing up way too fast, his tiny baby gone. He doesn’t want to keep her a baby _forever_ , but it would be nice to have just a little more time. With her, with Steve. But he can’t hold onto time anymore than he could keep water from slipping through his fingers. He hasn’t even told Steve about his appointment to look at the apartment this weekend. But he doesn’t want to have that conversation today, not on his birthday.

In the end, they only go a couple of blocks, but the crush of traffic makes it take long enough for several songs to play. They park on the street outside the Ford Foundation building and Bucky looks over at Steve curiously. “Are we going to the atrium? Aren’t they about to close?”

“I pulled a few strings.” Steve pulls his wallet out and passes a parking card over to Bucky. “Will you do the meter while I get a few things from the back?”

Bucky pays the meter for an hour and then goes to get Estelle out of her seat, draping a blanket over her and grabbing her diaper bag. To him, the fifty degree weather feels almost warm after the months of bitter winter cold, but Estelle is just a baby still. He doesn’t want to risk her getting a chill. 

Steve closes the back hatch and comes up next to Bucky, an insulated bag over one shoulder and a tote bag full of blankets in his other hand. When he catches Bucky’s gaze, he shrugs, blushing a little. “It’s not quite warm enough yet to go to the park, so. I found the next best thing.”

They head indoors, the atrium itself already empty except for them. Bucky grins as Estelle reaches out for the greenery, helping her gently touch the leaves. Steve stakes out a spot at the bottom of the stairs by the little pond and starts spreading out the blankets, beckoning them over.

“This is awesome,” Bucky says as he sits down, Estelle in his lap. He kisses her cheek, fingers grasped in her hands. Steve is pulling food from the insulated bag- stir fry, salad, fucking frosted brownies. Bucky can’t resist those. “Really. Thank you.”

Steve smiles, almost shyly. “It’s your birthday. We had to do _something_.” 

They idly eat their way through the food, Bucky regaling Steve with tales from his childhood birthdays. “I was an only child,” he says, twirling rice noodles around his fork. “So my parents tended to go all out. For my eighth birthday, we went to the roller rink. I remember getting all hyped up on ice cream cake and soda and this kid in my class- Henry- he wanted to play tag. Now I wasn’t the most coordinated child to start with and that little asshole not only knew it but he also played hockey so I was at an awful disadvantage. Wasn’t two minutes into the game and my feet went out from under me. Broke my elbow in two places and had to have surgery. Haven’t had wheels on my feet since. It still clicks funny occasionally.” He straightens out his right arm, but it doesn’t make any noise. Shrugging, he shoves the forkful of stir fry into his mouth.

“Jesus, Buck.” Steve shakes his head, laughing a little. “It’s not like I can judge though. I’ve broken more bones than I can count.”

“I can tell,” Bucky teases, scrunching his nose. Poor Steve’s nose has been through hell, but somehow the crookedness fits his face. It was there before the serum and it had stayed even after it. 

Steve rubs his nose, fingers tracing over the bump on the bridge. “I might have gotten my face smashed into a few brick walls here and there.”

“Well, I like your dumb crooked nose.” He shifts, putting down his bowl of food to adjust Estelle in his lap. She’s squirming all over the place, not unhappy, just wanting to get down. “Is it gonna happen today?” He asks her, lifting her out of his lap and setting her down on the blanket. Supporting her with one hand, he adjusts her legs. “This what you’re gonna give me for my birthday?”

Estelle smiles at him and he takes a deep breath, carefully letting go of her. Steve’s got a hand behind her, not touching her but ready to catch her should she fall backwards. They’ve been trying this over the past week, not trying to force her into sitting but seeing if she’s ready. With the lack of support from Bucky, she wobbles but doesn’t tip over. His heart lurches in his chest. 

“Look at you,” he whispers. Two days before turning five months old. “Look at you go. Good job, baby.” Estelle seems to realize what she’s doing because she gets excited, squealing a little. When she flaps her arms, that throws her balance off and she starts to fall but Bucky catches her, scooping her up and hugging her tight. “You’re getting so big. I love you so much.”

Steve meets his gaze, shared bittersweet joy. “Happy birthday, Bucky.”

***

He keeps putting it off, convincing himself he’ll tell Steve soon, but Saturday arrives and he’s out of time and he’s got to leave for his appointment and he still hasn’t found the words. He stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, stomach in knots. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal. It’s not like he’s moving out _today_ , he’s just going to look at the place. Yet it makes him feel awful, ill. He doesn’t want to leave. The weather is edging up around sixty degrees today so he’s just in a pair of nice jeans and a plain t-shirt. He grabs a light jacket too since the temperature is supposed to plummet back to the thirties tonight, just in case, but he doubts he’ll stay out long enough to use it. 

Steve is laying on the couch, reading something on his phone with Estelle fast asleep across his chest. He looks over when Bucky comes into the room, eyebrows going up as he sets the device aside. “Going somewhere?” There’s curiosity in voice as he glances over at the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Weather looks beautiful, can’t say that I blame you.”

“Yeah, uh.” Bucky swallows, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Actually, I meant to tell you but it. Slipped my mind. I’m going to Red Hook. To look at an apartment.” Steve reacts like Bucky’s slapped him across the face- shock giving way to a blank expression. Bucky _hates_ that look, he hates _this_. But he can’t… he can’t keep staying here, not like this. Not when he wants so much. There’s no chance of him ever being able to move on if they keep living like this. Like they’re a couple but _without_ the couple part. “It’s pretty much spring now,” he says weakly. “That was… that was the agreement.” Just for the winter. The past two months have felt simultaneously longer and shorter than they are. Like he’s been here forever but also now that it’s time to get ready to leave, like he’s barely been here at all. 

Steve’s jaw is tight, working like he has to force the words out. “You don’t have to go, Bucky. You know that, right? I didn’t- you’re the one who said just for the winter, not me.”

“I know, I-” he shakes his head. “I’m just looking at the place. It seemed decent in the pictures and the price is reasonable. I can take Estelle with me if you want, but I’d appreciate it if you’d watch her? It shouldn’t be more than a couple hours, max.” Much as he hates giving up some of his free time with her, he’s also not very familiar with the neighborhood and he’d rather leave her here just in case. 

“You know I’ll always be okay with keeping her,” Steve purses his lips, running his hand gently up and down her back. “Just… don’t make any decisions today? Think on it at least.”

“‘Course.” Bucky forces something of a smile and turns to head for the door. “Do you need me to pick up anything while I’m out?” He grabs his keys off the hook, clipping them onto his belt loop.

“Not that I can think of.”

“Okay. Be back soon.” He takes the bus to get there, settled in a seat near the back and slipping his earbuds into his ears. Drowning out his thoughts in the sound of Arctic Monkeys. It takes a good twenty minutes to get there and when he finds the place, he squints up at it. The building looks nice enough from the outside, so he’s… not exactly hopeful, because he doesn’t really want to be here, does he? But he doesn’t have any red flags about the place yet. He finds the building manager in the office, a friendly looking older woman. She introduces herself and chats about the weather as she unearths the apartment key and comes out of the office. 

“So, what do you do for a living, Mr. Barnes?” She heads toward the stairwell.

The question is posed lightly but he isn’t stupid. He’s well aware she’s testing the waters, seeing if he can actually pay rent. “I’m an engineer,” he says, smiling at her. “with Stark Industries.”

“Oh, how nice!” She stops on the second floor, heading down the hall. “The unit was just remodeled, all new fixtures.”

He steps into the apartment, looking around the space. It opens immediately into the living room, big windows overlooking the street. The kitchen is to his left, along with the doors to what he presumes are the bedrooms and bathrooms, down a short hallway. After his experience in his last place, the first thing his eyes find are the wall outlets. Thankfully, they are still _in_ the wall. He roams over to the small kitchen, turning on the sink to test the water pressure. “Are the neighbors loud at night?”

“Oh, no. Quite a few units are rented by elderly. There’s a young woman across the hall, but she works night shifts at the hospital. The unit above this apartment is empty as well. Light sleeper?”

“Not particularly,” he grins sheepishly. “But I have a five month old daughter. It’s hard enough getting her to stay asleep at night as it is.”

“Ah. I remember those days. Is she your first?” She smiles back at him when he nods. “Stick it out, you’re almost through the worst of it. And you’ll miss it more than you think when you don’t have her waking you in the middle of the night anymore.”

“It’s crazy how fast she’s growing.” He sighs, squatting down to look in the kitchen cabinets, mostly looking for mouse and roach traps. As they go through the apartment, they keep chatting about babies and how fast they grow, interspersed with questions about the apartment. He likes the place, he really does. And he likes the building manager. He and Estelle could live comfortably. 

But he can’t shake the feeling that he’ll never be happy here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my emotional support dumbasses who don't know how to communicate but its like 2am where i am rn and my brain is a little dead so i don't know what else to put in the notes uhh pls leave comments to fuel me through finishing this monster. it's crazy to me that i only started writing it two months ago and its already over 70k words long but it be like that sometimes i guess!!
> 
> also i have never actually been clubbing nor have i rented an apartment nor am i an engineer or even good at math so i don't have firsthand experience and if theres anything wrong about how i wrote them just please smile and nod bc im sick of this chapter and will not be fixing any inaccuracies as far as those things go ok thank u for reading tho


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tee hee rating change.............
> 
> i don't have a lot to say uhhhh i suppose i will continue this fic a bit longer even tho with this chapter it resolves all the driving conflict. but im not a fan of 'and then they kissed THE END' kind of stories and there are a few things that i feel like i need to wrap up that i didn't get to in this chapter so i'll work that out in the next chapter. i don't see this particular fic going any further than that, though since there just isn't any more conflict left to work out. BUT if yall would be interested, i could do like a mini series of little slice of life ficlets of like the years following this/showing Estelle growing up, their relationship growing, etc. let me know! also if you've noticed any plot holes, feel free to let me know about them as well so i can make sure i cover everything when i wrap the fic up.

If anyone asked, Steve is taking the news of Bucky’s apparent imminent moving out as well as can be expected. He’s shocked, yes, a little blindsided even though, at the back of his mind, he knew it was coming. A bit hurt that Bucky hadn’t thought to even tell him until right before he was leaving to go look at a new apartment. But he’s a grown up. He can accept it. Grown men are well adjusted, they can handle the idea of rapid change. After all, this is nothing like the kind of world rattling changes he’s been through before. Bucky’s only going to move to a different part of town, he’s not disappearing from Steve’s life forever. Steve will still have Estelle during the workdays, just like he did before they moved in. He’s quiet over the weekend, hyperfocusing all of his attention on the sketch he’s working on- a side view of Estelle sitting on her own, face tilted up and reaching for a flower that Bucky- out of frame- was holding above her. 

Privately? While Bucky is at the appointment, Steve has to go sit in the closet, rocking back and forth in the dark and trying to regulate his breathing. He has to run through the assurances that nothing is changing _immediately_ , he has time to prepare. Even though it feels like he doesn’t. His thoughts are too loud, moving too fast. Over that evening and the next day, he has to keep taking very hot showers, sitting under the burning spray until his head goes quiet. As soon as Bucky leaves for work on Monday morning and Steve doesn’t have to keep it together in front of him, it’s a relief. After all, it shouldn’t be hitting him this hard. He’d known Bucky was going to leave eventually. Normal people wouldn’t have a fucking meltdown over this. 

But that’s the thing.

No matter how hard he tries, he isn’t normal. He never will be. 

He can play at being just like everyone else, can even fool most people into seeing only what he wants them to see. But he can’t escape this. Part of him is angry that Bucky doesn’t seem to realize that it feels like Steve’s world has been tossed in the dryer- tumbling end over end in the dark. But he can’t blame him, not really. He does see more than most people do, but he doesn’t live inside Steve’s head. Steve hasn’t _let_ him see, so there’s no reason he would know. 

He swaps out sweatpants and tshirts for the compression tights and long sleeved undershirt that would normally go under combat gear because he likes how it feels. Tight around him like it’s holding him inside his skin when his brain is trying to convince his body to come out of it. Like a hug but without having to be in close contact with anybody. He’s not sure he could even handle Bucky right now. But he needs… maybe not necessarily to talk- words are hard- but he needs someone there that he can be quiet with that will understand. So he texts Natasha. 

She shows up at the apartment not even an hour later, letting herself in and plopping down on the couch next to him. It’s remarkable really, how easily she seems to read him, how she makes it easy to be around her. She keeps her distance, doesn’t try to force him into answering questions. For the first hour or so, they just sit quietly, watching highlights from the Winter Olympics figure skating event that Nat queues up on the TV. She’s warmed up to being around Estelle and she’s got the baby sitting in her lap, talking quietly to her about what’s going on on the screen. Steve suppresses a smile when she tells her, “You know, figure skating takes a lot of ballet training, too. I could teach you that, if you ever get it in your mind to try.”

He likes that Nat doesn’t mind showing this softer side of herself to him. Like she sees him as he is and accepts it and in turn, drops her own mask when there’s no one else around them. That knowledge helps loosen his tongue, makes talking not seem so daunting a task that it feels like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth. “Bucky’s moving out.” When she looks over at him, he takes a deep breath. “He went and looked at an apartment this past Saturday.”

“Did you guys get in a fight?”

“No.” He frowns, his eyebrows drawing down tight. But maybe…. “He went out for his birthday and came home really drunk. He tried to come onto me but… I mean, I rejected him, obviously. He was drunk.” If Bucky had been sober, it would have been a completely different story. But the fact is, he’d flat out admitted it was the alcohol making him act that way. Begging Steve to kiss him, asking Steve to _want_ him, like he hadn’t since the moment he’d laid eyes on him. It was an awful, cruel moment. The universe having a laugh at Steve’s expense. He doesn’t think Bucky actually remembered that many details the next morning, but he clearly knew enough to be awkward around Steve all weekend. “I think he was embarrassed about it but I don’t think that’s enough to make him want to move out.”

The truth simply is that he’d always intended to leave with the return of warmer weather. 

“Drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Yeah. He also said _while drunk_ that it was the alcohol making him feel that way. He said it didn’t mean anything.” Steve picks at the edge of the couch cushion. “He was very clear.” That’s exactly why he hasn’t brought it up. Yes, he’s positive by now that Bucky is attracted to him, to an extent at least. But attraction does _not_ equal what Steve wants from him. Steve wants fucking everything. He wants forever. 

Fuck, he wants more kids, even. 

If it weren’t for all of that, if it weren’t for the close friendship they have, he’d have no problems taking Bucky to bed, taking him apart beneath the sheets. Getting it out of his system. But there’s no getting over this, no moving on. Taking it there would only make the ache of not having stronger. “I just….” he sighs. “I don’t want to be selfish.”And if what Bucky wants is to leave, then Steve won’t hold him back. After all, maybe more than anyone else, he knows how to lose the people he loves. He’ll adjust. “I can’t try to keep him from what he wants to do just because I’m not happy about it.”

“If you never _try_ then you will certainly never _have_.” Natasha reasons, rolling her eyes. “C’mon. I know you’ve seen Love Actually. This is your airport chase moment but without the airport. Take a fucking chance.”

“Those people in the movies have nothing to lose by then.” Either they run through the airport in desperation to admit their feelings or they genuinely do lose the love of their life forever. “I still do.” Bucky isn’t going thousands of miles away, he’s staying right here in Brooklyn. As it is, Steve will still get to at least have Estelle through the week. But if he fucks it up between them, not only will he lose Bucky altogether, but he might lose her too. After all, Stark Industries provides childcare. Technically, Bucky doesn’t need him at all. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then you probably won’t want to talk about this either but. You should know.” Natasha strokes her fingers through Estelle’s hair, face somber. “If you hadn’t asked me to come over, I would have anyway because I have it on good authority that the media is now aware of your ‘resignation’. They’re planning on breaking the story tomorrow.”

He grimaces. “Just that I’ve retired?” 

“Yes. Your file is classified. Only the highest clearance levels can see it and there’s only a few of us. The leak is coming from someone at a lower level. Just the gossip that’s going around SHIELD.” She hesitates. “I really think you should file a lawsuit.”

It’s not the first time she’s brought this up. It had taken him a little while to finally tell her the full reason he’d quit- about how the therapist had withheld all of that information for so long. She’d been furious, insisting the guy had no right to hold a license. But Steve is so, so tired of the situation. He just wants to put it behind him. “I don’t want SHIELD’s money. I have more than I know what to do with already.” Lawsuits take time. They’re draining. Of course he’s angry about it, but there won’t be any peace to be found for him by taking it to court. It probably wouldn’t even get that far- he’s no lawyer but it’s probably not exactly easy to sue the foremost intelligence agency in the country. They’d just offer him higher and higher sums of money until he agreed to stay quiet. It’s better to just let sleeping dogs lie. 

“At least file a complaint with the licensing board.”

“Nat-”

“If you don’t, I will.” He glares at her, only half meaning it. It’s nice to be cared for. Even if she’s choosing to hone in on something he just wants to forget about altogether. She doesn’t so much as blink. “I mean it, Steve.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes. He’ll send the email. Whether or not anything comes of it, he’ll have appeased her. “How’s it going with Sharon?”

She smiles smugly. “We’re being _grownups_ and communicating about what we want and it’s actually maybe going somewhere. She understands where I’m coming from and wants to give it a try anyway. We’re taking it slow and working it out one step at a time. Unlike some people.”

“Bite me.” Estelle starts fussing and trying to get away from Nat, reaching for Steve. He takes her, hugging her against him. She settles almost immediately, popping her thumb into her mouth. This is all he wants to do with the rest of his life, this right here. He loves her so much it’s scary. “This is why I can’t risk it.”

“And what’s it going to do to her when she doesn’t have you around all the time like she’s used to? Two sides to the coin, Steve.” She raises an eyebrow. “Just think about telling him, at least?”

Frankly, it’s all he ever thinks of. The words _constantly_ on the tip of his tongue. She has a point about Estelle, though. “I’ll think about it.”

***

At the end of the work week, Estelle gets a cold. She’s sniffly and cranky when they get up in the morning, but she’s not feverish so Bucky still goes to work. He leaves anxious instructions that should she get worse, for Steve to call him right away. For most of the morning, Steve just sits in the rocking chair, doing his best to soothe her. He’s got a book to read during her brief naps and he’s content. But as the morning turns to afternoon, it becomes clear that he’s going to have to go out. He’d thought there was another canister of formula in the pantry, but it turns out there isn’t and he’s scraping the bottom of the one that’s open. He has to get some from the diaper bag to make Estelle’s bottle. When she finishes eating- fitfully, her blocked nose making it difficult for her to drink without pulling off every few seconds to breathe- he bundles her up and changes his own clothes really quickly, grabbing his wallet, keys, and the diaper bag and heading down to the garage.

Luckily enough it’s a fairly short drive to the store because Estelle cries the entire way. He tries singing to her, but it doesn’t calm her down like it usually would. As soon as he’s parked, he’s out of his seat and getting her unstrapped. “I’m so sorry, angel. It’s okay. I’m here. We gotta get you some more food, baby.”

She clings to him as he picks her up, croupy cries giving way to coughing. Her breath hitches on a wheezing inhale, a telltale jerky _hu-hu-hu_ in the back of her throat. Like she can’t get air into her lungs. And he knows. He _knows_ that feeling. “Oh, baby, no.” Swallowing hard, he rubs his hand gently over her shuddering back. “It’s gonna be okay.” Bless the future and the leaps and strides in medication and treatment options. Because if he’s right- and he’s ninety nine percent sure he is- then Estelle has asthma. Nothing else he’s ever experienced causes that sound. They’ll be able to get her a nebulizer and an inhaler and maybe she’ll grow out of it. 

He waits until she’s breathing steady again to get out of the car, grabbing one of the reusable bags from under the seat. The store doesn’t seem too busy and he steers his cart one handed since he’d forgotten the baby carrier at home. He gets the formula first, two canisters so they don’t have to go through this again. And since Estelle seems content, dozing against his shoulder, he goes ahead and shops for the rest of what he knows they’re running low on. Coffee, flour, onions, those juice pouches that Bucky loves, eggs, bacon, butter, cheese. He tosses a few packets of baking yeast in the basket for good measure- he wants to make some rolls later in the week and he doesn’t know if he’ll go to the grocery store before then. Every time he leaves the apartment, he’s running a risk. He’s seen a couple of the articles already. No doubt there will be more to come. The last thing he wants is to get mobbed, especially if he has Estelle with him.

He’s only experienced that once. It was about a week after the chitauri invasion and New York was still in a state of chaos, still digging up bodies from the rubble, still trying to figure out how to pick up and move on. He’d just been trying to help with the cleanup as much as he could. Unfortunately someone leaked that he was on the streets volunteering and within thirty minutes there had been a swarm of reporters around the entire area. All screaming questions, not just about the aliens. They wanted to know what World War Two was like. They wanted to know how he’d survived the serum when no one else had since then. They wanted to know what it felt like to drown, to _freeze_ , and how he survived so long. Like he even knows the answer to that. Yeah, he has absolutely no desire to ever repeat that experience. It hadn’t been long after that when the ban on mobbing the Avengers had been put in place.

He makes it out of the store without having to interact with anyone other than the cashier- who barely paid attention to him- and in no time he’s got the bags and baby in the car and he’s on his way back home. Estelle naps through the rest of the afternoon, only stirring to be fed just as Bucky gets home from work. Steve leaves the two of them to it, well aware that this is Estelle’s first sickness since the flu and that has to leave Bucky anxious about it, however mild it is. He puts dinner in the oven and sits on the couch across from Bucky. “I think Estelle has asthma.”

“ _What?_ ” Bucky’s head shoots up, eyes wide. 

“Just…” Steve shrugs, frowning. “Something about the way she coughs. It’s the same as I did before the serum. I don’t know. Maybe something else causes that but I think it’s something to ask the doctor about at least. Probably a good idea to video her so you have proof of it, too.”

Bucky swallows hard and nods, stroking his hand over Estelle’s hair. “Yeah. Shit, Steve.”

“It’s not…it’s not awful now. I don’t think.” Steve reaches over and squeezes Bucky’s knee. “There’s good medicine and a lot of kids grow out of it.”

“Yeah. You’re right. It’s just…” he shakes his head. “Still not something I relish the idea of her having to go through.”

“I know.” But they’ll figure it out together and maybe Steve will be wrong. Maybe he’s just hearing a bad cough and nothing more. But it’s better to be sure. 

“I’m gonna go put her in the crib.” Bucky sighs and sets the empty bottle aside, standing. She’s fallen asleep again, snoring slightly. Some time in the past week, Bucky’d read some article or forum or something that encouraged letting babies nap in their crib to promote a healthy sleep schedule or something like that and he’s been trying it out. But that doesn’t mean that Steve is. He still lets Estelle nap on his chest when she falls asleep there unless he has something pressing that requires him to have hands free, in which case, he will put her down in the crib. 

Steve watches him go, breath caught in his throat. There’s so much he wants to say, he just doesn’t know how to start. Over the week he has been thinking about what Natasha had said and, well. She’s right. Steve Rogers has never been a coward until now. If there’s even a chance that they have something here… it’s worth fighting for. And he does think they have something. Maybe Bucky doesn’t feel it quite as much as he does, but there’s got to be _something_ there. As Bucky comes back into the room, he swallows hard, picking at his cuticles so he has something to focus his attention on. “So, did you decide on the apartment?”

Even though he’s not looking at him, he can tell that Bucky hesitates. His footsteps falter against the rug, leaving him standing in front of the couch. “I have to let the landlord know by tomorrow but I-”

“Don’t go,” he blurts out, heart in his throat as he drops his hands and looks up. “Bucky, please. Don’t move out. Just stay here.”

Bucky looks at him, sorrow all over his face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why _not_?” They don’t just make it work. They _thrive_ in the same living space. At least that’s how Steve feels. He wants to keep handing Bucky breakfast in the morning and sending him off to work just as Estelle wakes up for her morning bottle. He wants to keep evenings spent watching movies or playing with the baby together or just talking about anything. He wants to keep the bits of clutter around the apartment that he’s constantly cleaning up, just because it proves that there’s life here even if it drives him crazy sometimes when things aren’t _just so_. He wants to keep the comfort of falling asleep in each other's arms. 

Bucky swallows hard, his shoulders edging up around his ears, defensive. “You know why. I know you must.”

“But I don’t.” It’s not that he wants to pressure Bucky. But it’s clear that he has reasons for wanting to leave other than their tentative ‘agreement’ that he’d only stay through the winter. And Steve just. Doesn’t understand. “I don’t….” 

“Steve.” Bucky tosses the baby monitor on the couch so he can rub his hands over his face, dropping them to his sides to stare at Steve incredulously. “C’mon. It’s obvious. Aiden clocked it in a minute. Everyone who reads the fucking news already thinks-”

And the penny drops. 

Bucky looks away miserably when Steve’s jaw drops, when his eyes go wide. “Why do you want me to stay?” He counters.

Steve takes a deep, unsteady breath. His hands are shaking. The only thing the news has said about Bucky is to report on them under the assumption that they’re a couple. That means…. “You know why.” The words come out in a whisper as he stands. He holds his breath, time in slow motion as Bucky looks up and blinks at him, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Bucky-”

He isn’t even sure who moves first; who crosses the few steps between them. But they come together in a clash, Steve’s hands buried in Bucky’s hair, tilting his face up. Bucky’s fingers dig into his biceps as Steve finally, _finally_ kisses him like he’s been wanting to for so long. He can’t quite believe it, the knowledge all around him and just out of his reach at once. That all this time… that he’s been so fucking stubborn. He’s been a _coward_. They could have been doing this all along. 

It’s been… a long fucking time since Steve has kissed anyone. In the war it was easier than you might think to find someone willing to exchange sloppy handjobs or even the occasional blowjob under the cover of darkness. Not so much willing to kiss. Other than Private Lorraine, it’s been since he was small, spending half his nights in bars trying to get picked up by anyone. But every rough kiss in an alley could _never_ compare to this. It’s not just the physical connection; the give and take and the warmth of being pressed as close to someone as you can get. 

There’s _emotion_ to this. An ache swelling up in Steve’s chest, cracking apart and coming together at the same time. His arms are heavy, fingers trembling as he runs them through Bucky’s hair, over and over, tangling the curls around them. Bucky’s mouth falls open the moment that Steve teases his tongue against his top lip. It doesn’t hurt that Bucky is _breathtakingly_ good at this, like he was born to kiss. Just as desperate to be close as Steve is. He presses up against Steve, up on tiptoes. Fingers clenching and unclenching in the fabric of Steve’s shirt. 

“Why didn’t you-” Bucky gasps against his mouth, words broken off by Steve’s teeth nipping at his lower lip. “All this time- you could have said-”

“I wasn’t sure you’d-” Steve pulls back and swallows. Bucky’s lips are so fucking red, swollen and slick. He’s looking at Steve from under heavy eyelids, hand sliding up over Steve’s shoulders to push his fingers through his beard. He turns his face into the touch for a moment but he can’t hold back from leaning in again, getting his mouth back on Bucky’s even though he still has things to say. 

Bucky gets his other hand around the back of Steve’s neck, keeping him close as he half steps half stumbles backwards. They nearly crash into the TV, Steve’s eyes opening just in time for him to sharply steer Bucky to the side and get him up against the wall. The strangled groan Bucky lets out has Steve’s toes curling, his hands getting greedy. He strokes them down Bucky’s sides, up his front, pushing his shirt out of the way to get his hands on warm skin “Can I-”

“Anything you want,” Bucky’s head thunks against the wall as he stares up at Steve dreamily. Heated eyes roving over him, intense in a way those paparazzi pictures had only captured a hint of. 

Steve smiles as he works the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him. He zeroes in on the bared skin, fingers tracing over the sharp line of Bucky’s collarbone. Down over his chest, taking in the hearty thump of his heart against Steve’s palm. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, glancing up at him. 

“Have you seen yourself?” Bucky laughs breathlessly, soft pink blush stealing across his face. “Jesus, Stevie, I mean. The moment I saw you I was like _now that’s a man that could bench press me_ -” he bites his lower lip, blushing harder, like he hadn’t quite meant to say that. 

“Is that something you like?” Steve ducks his head, whispering the words low against Bucky’s ear. He smirks at the full body shiver that runs through him. “Being manhandled?” Suddenly the insistence on being carried when he came home drunk makes a lot more sense. And yeah, Steve can get on board with this.

Bucky all but whimpers, his heartbeat kicking faster under Steve’s hand. “Steve-”

Steve drops his hands to Bucky’s thighs, shifting back far enough to easily lift him and push him back up against the wall but this time, with his legs wrapped tight around Steve’s waist, there’s no mistaking the firm line of Bucky’s cock pressing into Steve’s stomach. He turns his head, gets his mouth back on Bucky’s. There’s an undercurrent of wildness, hunger, now. He hisses when Bucky bears down, grinding together. That’s… he pushes Bucky harder against the wall, keeping him pinned with his hips. Secure so he can grab Bucky’s hands, tangle their fingers together and press them against the wall beside his head. Bucky’s panting, breathing heavy into Steve’s mouth. 

“Steve,” he says again, guttural and pleading. “You got no idea- how long I’ve-” He turns his face to the side, lips dragging over Steve’s jaw to get at his neck.

Steve’s breath catches. He drops his head back, digging his teeth into his lower lip as he releases Bucky’s hands to curl his fingers through his hair again. He does have some idea, he thinks. The entire fuckin’ time apparently, they’ve been wanting each other and too scared to admit to it. “Bucky, I l-” he gasps, swallowing. Mouth dry, tongue heavy. Maybe it’s too much to say everything at once. “Please don’t leave.” He couldn’t take that. Not now, not after this. 

“I won’t, I won’t.” Bucky swears, his legs dropping from around Steve’s waist until he’s standing again. It’s only because Steve isn’t expecting it that he goes easily when Bucky abruptly spins them around, crowding Steve back against the wall in his place. Bucky’s fingers bunch up his shirt, tracing lightly back and forth along Steve’s abs, over the waistline of his pants. Slowly, so slowly, he moves lower. When Steve doesn’t protest, when he pushes into the touch, Bucky grasps him through the fabric. Firm palm rubbing over the line of his cock, sending shockwaves through him. Bucky looks up through his lashes, licking his lips. “Can I suck your dick?”

Steve’s brain abruptly switches off, white noise in his ears. He’s pretty sure the sound that comes out of his mouth is embarrassing on every level. Something halfway between a groan and a whimper. Lifting a hand, he drags his thumb over Bucky’s swollen bottom lip, eyes fluttering closed when Bucky’s tongue darts out to flick against it. “You can do whatever you want to me.” He’s quite content to do literally _anything_ Bucky might have in mind. Whatever role he wants Steve to take, that’s fine by him. Now and in the future. 

A wicked smile crosses Bucky’s face and he drops to his knees. That’s an image that’s gonna be burned into Steve’s mind forever. He takes a shaky breath as Bucky reverently strokes his palms up and down his thighs, gripping at the muscle. Up, down, up, down. Each time getting just a fraction closer to where Steve wants him. Every sensory nerve he has is firing too fast, but in a good way. Even through the material of his pants, Bucky’s touch has his skin pebbling with goosebumps, every hair standing on end.

“Bucky,” he whispers, shifting his hips. “Stop teasing.”

Burning eyes look up at him, a teasing tilt to his mouth. “A guy can’t enjoy himself?” When Steve huffs, Bucky grins, fingers curling in the waistband of Steve’s joggers and pulling them and his underwear both down in one smooth motion. Bucky’s gaze immediately breaks away from his to focus on the exposed skin, his tongue darting out and drawing his lower lip between his teeth. 

“Shit,” Steve shudders as Bucky grips the base of his cock, firm and yet teasing at the same time, because all he does is direct it out of the way so he can get his mouth on Steve’s hip bone. His mouth is hot, cruel as he sucks a trail of bruising bites along each of Steve’s v-lines. It’s captivating, his gaze locked on the slick curve of Bucky’s lips as he gets closer… closer…. Bucky glances up at him just as he leans in and licks around the head. It sends a full body shudder through Steve, one of his hands anchoring in Bucky’s hair. “Baby-”

“Yeah, I can get behind you calling me that. More of that.” Bucky says and takes Steve fully in his mouth. It’s shallow, but it still has Steve’s head falling back against the wall. He all but chokes on the moan that swells up in his throat as Bucky bobs his head. His hands are firm against the bend of Steve’s thighs, digging in, fingernails scratching bluntly back and forth. It serves two purposes; keeping Steve’s hips from pushing forwards, but also making everything feel so much _more_. 

Steve clenches his hand in Bucky’s hair, his other arm thrown up over his own head, palm against the wall. His chest heaves when Bucky swallows and moans around him, eyes shut. “Fucking _god_ , Buck.” He can’t even decide what to focus on. The dark fan of Bucky’s lashes against his skin? The bulge in his cheek, the line of Steve’s dick in his mouth? The harsh breathing through his nose and throaty noises? It’s all too much. He’s used to hookups under the relative safety of darkness, anonymity. This is shameless in the light, every detail on display for Steve to take in. God, Bucky’s fucking beautiful like this. “You’re so-” he pants, shivering, turning his face against his arm. “So good.”

It’s sloppy, Bucky’s eyes watering, spit and precome smeared around his mouth when he pulls off to breathe. But he clearly knows what he’s doing. He’ll catch his breath while dragging his lips up and down the underside of Steve’s cock and then he’ll dive back in like he’s starving for it. Steve’s bitten his bottom lip nearly bloody, completely at the mercy of Bucky’s mouth. And it’s fucking perfect. He couldn’t ask for anything better. His hand spasms as Bucky relaxes his throat, taking him deep enough to have his nose brushing against the wiry curls at the base. “Oh _god_. Bucky.” It takes all his focus to keep from pushing his hips forward into that constricting heat. As firm as Bucky’s hands are at his thighs, they’re no match for Steve’s enhanced strength. He digs his teeth into his lower lip and this time he _does_ taste blood. The muscles in his thighs are trembling. Much more of this and he might not be present enough to hold himself back. “C’mere, god,” he slips his hand out of Bucky’s hair, grasping his upper arm and pulling him up. “Baby, c’mere.”

“I wasn’t done-” Bucky’s words are cut off by Steve kissing him, firm and hungry. He can taste himself, salty on Bucky’s tongue when it pushes into his mouth, sliding against his own, mixing with the iron taste of blood. Fingers grasp at the hem of his shirt, bunching it up as far as it will go. Bucky pulls back, their lips separating with a slick noise, just far enough to yank the t-shirt fully over Steve’s head. “Fucking-” he drops the material on the floor, hands immediately grabbing Steve’s pecs, kneading and pushing them together. “Mmm… muscle.”

Steve huffs, cheeks heating up. He grasps Bucky’s chin in his thumb and forefinger, pulling him back into a kiss. Not that everything else isn’t amazing, but he’s greedy for this most of all. He _likes_ kissing, likes getting lost in it. He’d happily do this for hours. But Bucky gets impatient, shifting against him, repositioning their hips to grind against Steve’s thigh, chasing friction. Steve presses against him harder, lets him ride along the firm line. This is enough to have him feeling almost drunk, hazy and happy. There’s just still too many clothes in the way.

Bucky’s still in the skin tight jeans he wore to work and Steve pops the button and pulls down the zipper, pushing at the material. The denim clings to the curve of Bucky’s ass, determined to stay in place. Steve breaks the kiss with a frustrated breath, leaning back to see what he’s doing. “Goddamn skinny jeans.” They’re not as difficult to get off as the leather number that Bucky had worn that night he’d come home drunk though. That had been its own special kind of torture for Steve, helping him get out of them to sleep. 

Bucky’s hands drop to help him, working the pants down over his thighs. “At least they make my ass look great.” He’s hoarse, voice just on the edge of gone. _Steve did that_. 

He swallows hard, hot all over. “I won’t argue.” He’s got no illusions that he’s biased- after all but drooling over Bucky for _months_ , he has to be. He _loves_ Bucky’s ass, loves every inch of his figure. Steve pulls the grey briefs down and out of the way, taking Bucky in his hand. He’s already glistening at the tip, a bit smaller around than Steve himself. Steve runs his thumb over the slit, collecting the slick, using it to smooth the glide of his fist over the shaft. He bites his lip at the moan that Bucky makes. “C’mon.” He urges Bucky’s hips up against his own, until their erections slide up against each other, so he can get his hand tight around both of them at once. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky breathes against Steve’s lips, his fluttering lashes a ghost of a touch on Steve’s skin. He cants his hips forward, into the circle of Steve’s fist and when that isn’t enough, he drops his hand, joining Steve’s around them. 

It’s entirely messy, rushed. Rough breathing against each other's mouths, the occasional bite of a lip or tongue darting out. They’re not even fully undressed, pants and underwear bunched uncomfortably around their thighs. There will be time later for spreading out under the sheets, for mapping and worshipping every inch of Bucky’s skin like he’s been wanting to. For now, this is heaven to him. He shivers, dropping his mouth against the curve of Bucky’s shoulder, biting down. 

“Yeah, yeah, like that.” Bucky chokes out, speeding the motion of their hands. “Keep going.”

When he moves his hand up, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the leaking heads of their dicks, Steve’s eyes damn near roll back in his head. He’s trying to keep it together, to hold out, but god. _God_. His entire body is tight, thighs shaking, stomach clenched. “Please. Please.”

Bucky abruptly pulls back, falling to his knees again and sucking the tip of Steve’s cock between his lips. That’s it for Steve. He’s gone, crying out and throwing his arm over his eyes as he comes. It wracks through him, full bodied, his vision whiting out. Bucky’s swallowing around him, milking it from him. When his hand curls around Steve’s balls, he gasps. Hips jerking forward unbidden. And Bucky just lets him, mouth falling open willingly for Steve to push himself further down his throat. Steve drops his arm, watching him from under heavy eyelids as Bucky moans around him, his fist flying over his own cock. He pulls off, a string of come and spit stretching obscenely between his lips and the head of Steve’s dick. Steve’s eyelids flutter. 

“Turn around,” Bucky gets to his feet, licking his lips. Steve doesn’t question it, doing as Bucky says. He braces his hands against the wall just as Bucky grabs a handful of ass, digging his fingers in. “You have got… the best fucking ass I have _ever_ seen-” he grits out. Steve can hear the slick, rushed noises of him jerking off. The rough breaths and shaky moans. “Like a fuckin’ peach. _Shit_. Every time I look at it I- oh- I just wanna take a bite.”

“Anything you want,” he chokes out. Whatever Bucky wants, Bucky can have. And if what he wants is to bite Steve’s ass, well… that’s fine by him. He twists his head around, digging his teeth into his bottom lip as he looks at Bucky through his lashes. “Come on, baby, I want it.”

That’s all it takes, it seems, to send Bucky over the edge. His brows furrow and his head falls back as he starts to climax. Shaking, he hunches over, painting the small of Steve’s back and the curve of his ass with his come. Steve’s eyes nearly fall shut but he _wants_ to see, wants to take in every moment of it. So he forces them to stay open till it’s over. 

Bucky lets out a pitiful moan, slumping against Steve, uncaring of the mess. He mouths along Steve’s shoulder, breathing hard. “Sorry,” he gets out, “I should’ve asked-”

“No.” Steve reaches up and pushes his fingers through Bucky’s sweaty hair, tilting his head back to kiss him, chaste and soft. “It was perfect. You’re perfect.” He’ll use one of their discarded shirts to clean up the mess and just throw it in the laundry right away.

Huffing a laugh, Bucky kisses him again. “Way to not even make it to the bedroom.” He presses soft kisses over Steve’s jaw, along the line of his shoulder. “How long have you…?”

“Since about the moment I laid eyes on you.” It might be embarrassing if he didn’t know that Bucky is in the exact same boat. “Nat’s been trying to get me to tell you for months. I was just… afraid. I didn’t want to mess this up if you didn’t feel the same. Losing you would be awful. Losing you _and_ Estelle….” 

“You’d never lose us. Didn’t I tell you we’re family?” Bucky rubs his palms up and down Steve’s back, soothing. “You’re never getting rid of us now.”

“I never wanted to in the first place.” He turns around, catching the side of Bucky’s face in his hand and kissing him soundly. They’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for. He fully intends to take advantage of every free moment they have. And honestly, they don’t have a lot. Not together, not alone. Bucky’s only home during the evenings and weekends and most of that time they’re busy with Estelle. 

“Mm,” Bucky hums, pulling back. “I hate to break the moment but is something burning?”

It’s a testament to how distracted Bucky’s had him that Steve hasn’t even noticed the smell of dinner _definitely_ burning. “Shit,” he steps back, bending over to scoop his shirt up from the floor so he can swipe half heartedly at the drying mess on his lower back. He’s gonna have to have a shower and evidently he isn’t in the middle of cooking anything anymore. They’ll have to order something in. When he catches Bucky leering at him, he rolls his eyes, throwing the dirty shirt at his bare chest. “Put that in the laundry, will you?” He hikes his underwear and pants back up, heading for the kitchen. 

There’s no saving the lasagna in the oven; the entire top burnt to a crisp and probably the bottom too. He pulls it out and drops it on the back burner of the stove, tossing a towel over it. When it’s cooled down he’ll deal with it. For now he just grabs the takeout menus from the magnetized file folder hung on the side of the fridge and starts flipping through them. “I’m gonna order something for dinner,” he calls, softly so as hopefully not to wake Estelle. Honestly, thank god she’d fallen asleep when she had. “What do you want?”

There’s a few moments of silence and then Bucky comes into the kitchen. He’s got his underwear back up but he’s ditched the jeans and he’s got a mouth full of toothpaste. Holding up a finger, he takes the brush out of his mouth and spits the foam in the sink. “Indian? Or whatever you want, I’m not picky.” He turns on the faucet and rinses his brush and mouth. 

“Indian is fine.” Steve shuffles the menus until he finds the one he wants, putting the rest back in the file. “Fuck, my phone’s still on the charger.”

“I’ll call them,” Bucky leans up and kisses him, taking the laminated sheet from his hand. He tastes minty now, thanks to the toothpaste. “What do you want?”

“Like… four orders of the chicken vindaloo? And extra roti.” He brushes his limp hair away from his forehead. “I’m gonna grab a shower really quick.” 

“And you’re not even going to invite me?” Bucky puts his hand over his chest, mock offense in his voice, but he’s grinning. “I know, I know. Someone’s gotta listen for Estelle waking up. Go on. I have a phone call to make.”

Steve kisses his cheek and heads for the bathroom, grabbing his phone from the bedside table on the way. He strips off his clothes and turns on the water. While he waits for it to warm up, he sends off a text. 

**To Nat: You can say I told you so now.**

Her response comes within thirty seconds.

**From Nat: congrats ;)**

A second message follows rapidly but it’s not in the form of words. The link she sends takes him to Spotify and his jaw drops as the song starts playing. While it’s not necessarily inaccurate, he could have done without his phone suddenly blaring _I just had sex!_ He closes the app and sends her a string of dots. Setting his phone aside, he grabs his toiletries and gets into the shower, sighing as the steaming water hits him. He tilts his head back into the downpour, water trickling down over his face. 

Bucky likes him back. 

Bucky _enthusiastically_ likes him back.

Sure, he hadn’t said he _loves_ Steve, but then again, Steve hadn’t said it either. It had very nearly slipped out and he’s under no illusions that he’ll be able to hold out long before he does say it. But for now, it doesn’t feel like an awful thing to keep to himself anymore. It’s just… this little thing he’s saving. When the moment is right, he’ll tell him.

He presses his face into his hands and laughs, giddy and free. 

***

Neither of them quite knows what to do with the shift between them. It’s not that they’re ignoring what happened or backpedaling but over the weekend Bucky blushes nearly every time they make eye contact. They _definitely_ need to talk about it. It’s just that every time Steve tries to come up with the right things to say, he suddenly forgets every word he’s ever learned. Or they’ll get distracted by one thing or another and by the time he remembers he was trying to start a conversation, the moment has passed. 

On Monday afternoon afternoon, he’s playing with Estelle in the living room floor. She’s bounced back from her cold, but they had managed to get a recording of her coughing to show the doctor. Since she’s pretty solid now while sitting on her own, he’s got a little soft stress ball and he’s trying to teach her how to roll it back and forth. She leans forward to slap it when he rolls it to her again. “You’ve got the concept, angel. We just need to work on execution.”

She glances up at him, smiling. “Ba-ba-ba-ba.” The babbling noises have recently evolved into short strings of sounds like that. 

“Good job, Estelle!” He picks up the ball and rolls it to her again. “ _Ball_.” It’ll be a while before she truly grasps words, but it can’t hurt to start trying to build her vocabulary. She knows her name, knows what _no_ means. Just because she can’t repeat them back yet doesn’t mean that she isn’t smart, that she doesn’t learn and retain information. 

“Ba-ba-ba.”

Steve opens his mouth to praise her again but instead nearly jumps out of his skin when Bucky bursts into the apartment and slams the door shut. Estelle startles too, her face crumpling as she lets out a tremulous wail. “Jesus _christ_ , Buck.” He picks her up, rubbing his hand over her back. “It’s okay, angel. It’s alright.”

Bucky drops his bag and throws his jacket on the couch, expression pinched. “I’ve- _we’ve_ been being watched.”

“What-”

“I got off the subway and there was a reporter waiting just outside the stop. I saw him around the neighborhood every day last week, I just didn’t really pay attention to him and he didn’t try to talk to me. But today he followed me all the way here- asking all kinds of shit, trying to get me to confirm or deny things. He’s still outside.”

Steve gets to his feet, going over to the window. Sure enough, there’s a guy on a bench across the street, camera hung around his neck. It’s not someone he recognizes from any of the press conferences that he’s been a part of, but that doesn’t mean anything. “God dammit.” It’s not just fucking annoying, it’s kind of alarming. Stupid of him to not expect something like this. Like, he’d anticipated being stopped in public eventually but he hadn’t expected someone to stalk Bucky to their home. He grits his teeth, turning to hand Estelle to Bucky. “Stay here. I’ll take care of it.”

“But.” Bucky grabs his arm with his free hand before Steve can head for the door. “They’re not going to stop. It doesn’t matter what you say to him; even if he leaves, there’ll be someone else looking for a story tomorrow. It’s not worth it.”

“They’ll stop.” He kisses him quickly, pulling free. “I promise.”

“Steven Rogers, you better not beat that guy up and get thrown in jail.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” He laughs at the face Bucky makes and heads for the door. Takes the stairs down to the ground floor, nodding at the doorman as he heads outside. The reporter jumps to his feet as soon as Steve starts walking toward him, false smile on his face only making Steve angrier. He stops a few feet away from the guy, arms folded over his chest. “Do you have a card?”

The guy’s eyes widen, like he wasn’t expecting that. He fumbles a little, pulling a business card from his shirt pocket. “Wow, I totally didn’t expect you to actually give me the story-”

“I’m not.” Steve snaps, snatching the card from his hand. “You’ve been stalking us. And apparently now you’re harassing my-” he grits his teeth, well aware anything he says will probably be picked to shreds in the media. He’s _not_ ashamed of Bucky, but they haven’t even had the _what are we?_ conversation yet. He doesn’t want to call him his partner or boyfriend just to turn around and find out that he’s got it all wrong and that’s not what Bucky wants them to be at all. He takes a deep breath. In order to get rid of this guy and discourage others, he’s gonna have to give a bit more information than just ‘no comment’.

“Look, just because I resigned from SHIELD doesn’t mean I resigned from the Avengers, who are, as you know, a private organization. Which means every single journalist that harrases me or anyone close to me is subject to being blacklisted from all future press events. Starting with you.” He holds up the guy’s card and smirks at the anger that flickers across his face. “So stay the fuck away from my home and my friends and tell all of your reporter friends to do the same. If they want an interview, they can submit a request through StarkMedia.” He turns on his heel and heads back for the apartment. That alone probably won’t be enough to deter them forever, but maybe if a statement is put out reiterating the blacklist clause…. He can take Bucky to work tomorrow morning and make a stop by the PR department in Stark Tower. See what he can do about getting that done. 

Bucky’s still by the window when Steve slips back through the door. He looks up, the earlier irritated expression gone. “You know,” he muses, licking his lips. “Watching you tell that dude off was kind of hot. Even from a distance. What’d you tell him?” 

Steve rolls his eyes, but Bucky’s words spread warmth through him. “Mostly to quit harassing you and that I’ll get him blacklisted from Avengers press events.” He puts the card on the bookshelf- it’ll be safe there for now. He’ll take it with him tomorrow when he goes to talk to the PR people. He’s done all he can, technically, they’re the ones that have to do the rest.

“ _Nice_.” Bucky bounces Estelle gently until she starts laughing. “Can you say _nice_ , Stellie?”

“Ba-ba-ba-ba-ba.” 

“Yeah, she’s been stuck on that one all day.” Steve folds his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall as he watches the two of them. Sometimes it astonishes him, when he remembers how tiny she used to be. Seeing her every day makes the transformation from the newborn that very nearly fit in his hand to the chubby cheeked, bright eyed baby so gradual that he doesn’t think about it most days. But really, she’s growing up so rapidly, it makes his chest ache when he thinks about it. 

“Okay, okay. How about da-da? C’mon, baby, you’re so close. Say da-da.” Bucky tickles Estelle’s belly, grinning bright. “Da-da.” She giggles and slaps him in the face.

“It’s gonna be funny if her first word is like… hi or bye or something.” Steve teases. Ever since she’d started babbling the strings of consonants, Bucky’s been trying to get her to say the _d_ sound, to no avail so far.

Bucky huffs. “Don’t _jinx_ it, Steve. You know what? Take this child since she wants to spite me.”

“Gladly.” Steve crosses the room in a few strides. He waits until he catches Estelle’s attention to hold his hands out toward her and wiggle his fingers. “You wanna c’mere, angel?”

Estelle looks at him, at Bucky, and back to him. And then she grins and leans toward him, all grabby hands, and says clear as day, “Da-da-da-da!” 

Bucky’s grip on her falters, only for a moment, but Steve is there to catch her as Bucky gapes at the two of them. “You dirty little traitor,” he points his finger at Estelle, eyes wide.

Quite frankly, Steve isn’t sure how to respond. His heart is pounding hard against his ribcage, despite _knowing_ that she’s just making noise for the sake of making noise. It still _feels_ like it means something even when it doesn’t. Not logically. His brain knows all of this, but his selfish heart doesn’t want to listen. It’s soaring at the idea that _he’s_ the one she said that for. But as delightful as it is, he’s still guilty. Rightfully, that word is for Bucky. He knows that. He licks his lips, glancing up at Bucky. “Buck… you know- you know she’s just babbling right? It doesn’t mean anything. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” 

“How dare you do this to me, Estelle?” Bucky keeps going, mournfully. He dramatically collapses onto the couch, one arm thrown across his forehead. “I knew I was the least loved parent but this… cruel and unusual treatment.”

It takes Steve a moment to register exactly what Bucky’s said. When you discount the histrionics, there’s still an offhand grain of honesty there. Probably something that Bucky didn’t even think anything of saying but Steve… his mind is stuck on that one fact. It’s enough to just about put his earlier excitement and guilt completely from his mind. “You think of me as her parent?” He asks quietly.

Bucky immediately ceases his sorrowful moaning and sits upright, looking up at Steve. He tilts his head to the side, eyes soft. “Of course I do.” His brows furrow and he opens his mouth again, hesitating. “I mean. If you’re okay with it. I don’t mean to… assume.”

“If I’m okay with it,” Steve echoes, sitting down on the couch next to him. There’s a lump in the back of his throat, a burning blur in his eyes. When he’d first started watching Estelle, he’d thought _it doesn’t get any better than this_. When Bucky had asked him to be her godfather, he’d thought it. When they’d moved in and he wasn’t alone anymore, not ever, he’d thought it. But this… it really doesn’t get any better than this. He takes a shaky breath and when he blinks, the tears fall from his lashes, one from each eye. They slip down his cheeks and land in Estelle’s hair when he kisses the top of her head. “I’m so okay with it.”

“Okay. Good.” Bucky’s hand rubs over his back. “You know I know she doesn’t understand what she said. But when she does, if it’s you that she chooses to call that. I won’t mind, Steve. Not a bit.” 

And he just… it _doesn’t get any better than this_. It can’t possibly. Every moment he’s spent wishing for this feeling, for words like that, and now that he has them, he’s overflowing with it. It makes his hands shake, but in the best way possible, makes his heart feel like it’s swelling. “I never had a… life dream, growing up.” He says softly, still a little too overwhelmed to look up. “Nothing beyond doing something meaningful. Helping others before my body gave out. And then getting thrown into the future was just… it was hard enough just trying to keep my head above water to even consider any sort of… long term future. But then.” He wipes his eyes and looks up, smiling. “Then I met you. And I don’t want to be… cheesy or anything. Stealing lines from a Disney movie, but. You’re my new dream. Both of you.”

Bucky’s lip wobbles. 

“I love you,” Steve blurts out. It’s all he has to offer Bucky; his heart held in his hand like this. His heart and all the baggage that comes with who he is. The nightmares and the reporters and the people who will always only see him as public property. The struggle to fit into a world that doesn’t want to let him, whether because of the time period he was raised in or because of his less than normal grasp of social cues in general. But he has his heart. “And I don’t know… if that’s something that I’m supposed to say yet. Maybe it’s too soon. But it’s how I feel.”

Bucky shakes his head rapidly, eyes sparkling. His teeth are digging into his lower lip, like he’s trying to hold back a smile, but there’s no keeping it from shining through. Brilliant and happy and it spreads relief through Steve like sunlight. “There’s no rules when it comes to things like that. You just… know when the time is right.” He folds his knees under his body, leaning up on them. With one hand cupping Steve’s jaw, he presses their foreheads together. “And I love you too. I do. I have for a long time.”

“So….” Steve whispers, closing the space between them to press his lips against Bucky’s, soft and easy. “Does that mean you’ll be my boyfriend?”

“Yes, Steve Rogers,” Bucky laughs softly, “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey.... hey..... how yall doin  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> explicit scenes are the bane of my existence so sorry if it was bad im trying my best here they're just so hard and uncomfortable for me to write. but they do make that word counter tick higher though so.... i can't complain too much. 
> 
> i had to throw in that tangled reference even though im not usually a 'disney uwu' kind of person. but i went for it with the theme for estelle's nursery so i figured it was fitting here too. 
> 
> spare some comments for my serotonin pls


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooooo it turns out that when i was going through the story and writing down things i wanted to cover before finishing up, i came up with so much that you get this chapter AND one more otherwise this one would have ended up being like 20k words long so i decided to split it up you're welcome :)
> 
> also sorry the delay in posting, i was going through a spiral after watching dark on netflix... on that note please go watch it it's literally the best show i've ever seen.

Bucky props his chin in the palm of his hand, poking a screwdriver against the little robot that he has kidnapped. Technically, the thing is supposed to function as a sort of trash processor. Working in R&D means there’s a lot of scrapped bits that get thrown out that could have use in the future and this little guy is supposed to sort through them. Bucky just thought he looked lonely in the corner by the trash can. Also he’s bored. Tuesdays are worse than Mondays, honestly. He grins when it grabs the end of the screwdriver with its claw, letting out a series of soft beeps. Really, he should be doing paperwork, but this is just so much more entertaining. “Who named you this?” He taps the messy paint on the side of its body. “You don’t look like a Garbage Goblin to me.”

Also, he thinks the thing could be used so much better. It’s not that hard to fucking go through your shit before you throw it away to make sure you aren’t tossing out any good parts. Just some of the people here are so used to having robots around to do that for them that they can’t be bothered to even glance at it before sweeping it into the bin. “I’m gonna call you Gigi.” He pulls his phone out and snaps a pic as the robot starts whistling and vibrating. 

**To Boyfriend!: ive kidnapped this robot and renamed it gigi**

**To Boyfriend!: get it? Garbage Goblin? G.G. gigi!**

**To Boyfriend!: can i bring it home stark will never have to know and it can be a friend for estelle**

**From Boyfriend!: Bucky, you can’t steal Tony’s robot staff.**

**To Boyfriend!: but it seems lonely :(((**

He pockets the phone, turning his attention back to the bot. “So, what do you do besides sort things?” Gigi whirrs, turning side to side a few times and then rolls over the crumbs on the table from the chips Bucky had eaten. When it passes over them, there’s a soft whooshing and then they’re just gone. “Okay, so built in vacuum. That makes sense. Anything else?” Gigi’s ‘eyes’ seem to droop at the sides and it gives one low beep. “Well, that won’t do. We gotta give you at least one totally useless but cool and funny feature.” 

It takes him a few minutes, squinting at the little robot and tapping his fingers against his cheek before the idea materializes. “Oh, I’ve got it.” It takes him most of the afternoon, but by the time it’s nearing time to go home, he’s successfully reprogrammed Gigi so that whenever it comes in to perform trash duties, not only does it play the Mission Impossible theme, but the little lights on its underside sync with the beat. Since Steve doesn’t seem inclined to let him bring the robot home, the least he can do is give it a more entertaining life. He also gets a little pot of paint and crosses out _Garbage Goblin_ , replacing it with Gigi.

Yet another successful day at the office. 

He freezes when someone clears their throat from behind him. Or maybe not. “I can explain,” he starts as he turns around on his stool, but… “Oh.” 

Natasha Romanoff is grinning at him, arms folded over her chest. She glances at the robot and back to him. “Were you afraid I was someone here to fire you?”

“Maybe....”

“Oh, relax. That’s exactly the kind of thing Tony loves. If he gets wind of it, you’re more likely to get a raise than anything.” She steps forward and pushes herself up to sit on the edge of his workbench, patting Gigi. “I was in the tower today anyway, so I figured I’d stop by and say hi. Also if you want a ride home, I could give you one. I wanted to talk to Steve anyway.”

“Oh. Sure, if you don’t mind.” He puts the robot down on the floor and grins when it bumps his shin and whistles before rolling away. Shutting his laptop, he slips it into his bag, hesitating. “I hear I have you to thank for-”

“Steve finally pulling his head out of his ass?” She smiles serenely. “You’re welcome.”

“Well. I’m partially at fault for it taking so long too.” Bucky sighs. They really were stupid about the whole thing. And clearly everyone else around them knew it. “My friend was trying to get me to say something for ages,” he shakes his head. “But I was scared of messing it up.”

“Yeah, you two are perfect for each other.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing about four fresh looking piercings as she hops down and heads off for the elevators with him following. “So… how’s it going? He seems a lot happier now.”

“It’s-” he can’t help smiling, ducking his head. “It’s really good, I think.” Not that a _lot_ had changed between them aside from the addition of the physical aspect of a relationship. Everything else is stuff they were already doing. A couple without being a couple. But the relief of actually knowing feelings are reciprocated, of having successfully started communicating, has made their interactions so much more… casual? In that Bucky doesn’t feel guilty or nervous anymore when he catches himself absentmindedly stroking his fingers over Steve’s back at night. Or when they’re sitting on the couch and he gets the urge to lay down and put his head in Steve’s lap, he _knows_ it’s okay now. And even though they’ve been _together_ for almost two weeks now, every kiss still makes him feel bubbly, stomach fluttering and heart skipping. 

How he’d managed to luck into this life, he doesn’t know, but he’s gonna do everything in his power to keep it. 

Natasha’s car is a little black Corvette Stingray and Bucky whistles as he slides into the passenger seat. “This is nice.” 

“Isn’t it?” She glances over at him, smirking. “Fully customized, too. And bulletproof.” She easily reverses out of the parking spot, barely even glancing behind them.

Being somewhat used to Steve’s driving, Bucky doesn’t freak out _quite_ as much at the way she weaves through the Midtown traffic jams but he does check his seat belt and brace his feet against the floorboard. Just in case. “So, how long did you know?”

“Oh, since October. He didn’t admit to it though until we went on that mission in January.” They swerve sharply around a truck. “Steve is… a very important friendship to me. But he likes to keep his cards close to his chest. It took me a while to get him to come out of his shell. That’s why I was so surprised when I saw how he was around you. Why I encouraged him to pursue it. You’re very good for him, Bucky Barnes.”

“Thank you.” He isn’t even sure why but her words make a lump rise in the back of his throat. “I try to be. He’s good for me and Estelle too.”

Quite frankly, he could not have done any of this without Steve. He doesn’t have a clue what their lives would have looked like if he had gone to a different store that day, had never run into him. But he knows they probably wouldn’t be in a good place. Accepting the help had made him uneasy at first, but he’s so, _so_ glad that he had done it. And yes, he’s well aware that they’re in a honeymoon phase right now and everything is all sunshine and rainbows but… even knowing each other only six months now he thinks they have a foundation to truly build something permanent on. And isn’t that shocking? A year ago, he was anything but interested in long term. He didn’t see himself actually loving a person enough to _want_ to stay with them forever. Now he wants nothing more. 

“Ah, Estelle.” Natasha smiles, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “We like each other, me and her. Took me a few times of hanging out with Steve before she’d let me hold her, but now we’re friends.”

He doesn’t know why that’s so surprising to him- Steve talks about hanging out with Natasha often enough. “I didn’t take you for a kid person.”

She rolls her eyes. “People have this idea that women can’t be badass _and_ like kids. I’m perfectly capable of both. And don’t say you’re sorry-” she cuts him off as he opens his mouth. “I just wanted to offer, you know, if you and Steve would like to go out on an actual date or even just have some alone time at home overnight… I would be willing to watch her occasionally. Because I’m a good friend. And she’s gonna need some girl time eventually. Not that you aren’t doing a great job and all, but.”

“No, I get it.” He smiles at her. “Thank you. I’ll talk to Steve and we’ll think about it.” It’s not that he doesn’t trust her to watch Estelle… probably she’s the safest person he might ever leave her with, short of Steve. But he’s _never_ left her overnight and the thought makes him antsy. Not that the idea of having time alone that isn’t brief encounters during naptime with an ear out for her crying isn’t appealing. It is. God, it is. Of course, they could just transition her into sleeping in the nursery overnight but… he just feels more comfortable with her close. And even though they talked about it briefly, Steve doesn’t seem inclined to move her yet, either.

They chat about other, more casual things through the rest of the drive. He asks her about her piercings and where she got them done. He’d gotten his septum done in college but he’d lost the ring last summer and didn’t find it until the hole had already closed up. Though he wants to get it redone, he’s not sure how feasible of an idea it is with a young baby. 

“Yeah, it was a dare,” she says, pushing her hair back to show them. “Daith, rook, and industrial. I was at the shop with my… the girl I’m seeing because she was getting hers done for migraines. I texted Clint about where we were and he dared me to get them, knowing fully well that I would. So.” 

He doesn’t miss the way she stumbles over talking about the girl. Apparently he and Steve aren’t the only ones with relationship drama. But he doesn’t press; it’s really not any of his business. He wouldn’t even go so far as to say they’re friends, not really, not yet. She parks in one of the guest spots in the garage and they head up to the apartment, Bucky pulling out his keys and unlocking the door. 

“Honey, I’m home,” he calls, glancing around as he sets his bag down. Steve’s sketchbook is open on the couch, but he’s nowhere to be seen. 

“In Estelle’s room!”

He heads down the hall, Natasha on his heels and pushes the heavy door open. Steve is in the middle of the rug, surrounded by piles of baby clothes. None of which Bucky has ever seen before. “Steve-” He bends down and picks up a little romper with sunflower print and ruffled sleeves. It is cute, he’ll admit.

Steve looks up, sheepishly. His eyes widen a little when he sees Natasha, but his gaze flickers back to Bucky. “It’s getting warmer out and she’s outgrowing everything we have. Hi, Nat.”

“Hey.”

Honestly, he’s kind of relieved that Steve likes to do the clothes shopping because he has a better eye for patterns and colors. Bucky mostly just grabs little plain onesies- which is fine, she wears them a lot around the house. They’re cheap and easy to replace when they inevitably get stained, but Steve finds the clothes that are cute, the colors that compliment her skin tone. He drops the romper and leans down to kiss Steve’s upturned lips before stepping over the clothes and getting Estelle from the swing. “My baby,” he coos, holding her above him and kissing her nose. “I missed you.”

Natasha drops into the rocking chair, sitting sideways with her legs dangling over one of the arms. “So, I was at the tower and I figured I’d offer your boy a ride home,” she starts, looking over at Steve. “You’re ignoring Tony’s calls.”

“Yes.”

“He wants to know if you’ll be attending the memorial dinner for the anniversary of the invasion.”

Steve looks up sharply, face pinched. “Why the hell would I go to that? An evening full of politicians and ceos pretending like they care about what happened when they really only care about how much money it lost them? No, thanks.”

It hasn’t escaped Bucky’s knowledge that the second anniversary is creeping up on them, only a month away now. And it’s a little easier this year than it had been last year. He hasn’t yet been hit with the urge to pull away from everyone he cares about, hasn’t had days where he does nothing but stay in bed and stare at the wall. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. Not just the quiet ache of missing them whenever he thinks of his parents, but also the guilt. That he could be so happy right now, when they aren’t here to be happy with him. When they died alone and afraid while he was hundreds of miles away, blissfully unaware. 

Steve’s saying something about how if he goes to any event for the anniversary, it’ll be something organized at ground level, by the citizens who were most affected. He picks up a stack of folded clothes and goes to put it in the dresser, glancing at Bucky. “ _You okay?_ ” He mouths, back to Natasha.

Bucky nods, holding Estelle a little closer. Truthfully, he probably won’t be, as the date gets closer and closer. But he’ll deal with that when he gets to it. For right now, he’s okay. Even if it’s all he manages to think about this evening, he’s still functioning. “I’m gonna go change into something more comfortable,” he says, stepping around Steve and heading out into the hall. He has to take a few minutes when he gets to the bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed and taking deep breaths. Estelle seems to sense his disquiet, patting his cheek gently and babbling something. “I love you too, baby.” He kisses her nose and puts her down on the floor to go grab a change of clothes. 

He’s halfway out of his jeans when Steve slips through the door. “Nat left.” He announces softly, squatting down to tickle Estelle’s tummy. “You’re not really okay, are you?”

Sighing, Bucky tosses the dirty jeans into the hamper and starts shoving his legs into a pair of sweats. “It’s… compared to how I was this time last year, I’m fine and dandy. That doesn’t mean it’s easy.” He bites his lip, looking down. “Last year, uh. I told you I had a bad breakup with Estelle’s mom, right?”

Steve nods.

“Right, well. I was never in a good place throughout my entire relationship with her and we were never anything more than casual, but. I got… bad… last April. Barely talked, didn’t want to go out or uh, have sex or anything. Basically, I was really depressed and grieving.” He’d gone to work because he’d had bills to pay and other than that he pretty much stayed in bed the whole month. And Alicia hadn’t liked that- his sudden shunning of the party scene that they had been part of. “She told me I was being overdramatic and boring. So we fought and broke up.” He pulls on a fresh shirt and sighs. “So, like I said. I really am doing okay this time around. But, uh. I guess that tells you what to look out for over the coming weeks.”

Steve’s brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. But he doesn’t say anything, just pushes to his feet, walks over, and wraps Bucky in a tight hug. “I love you,” he says softly, lips brushing against the curve of Bucky’s shoulder. “I would never, ever blame you for feeling that way. I know how hard it is to lose a parent.”

Bucky takes a shaky breath, sinking into the embrace. “Thank you.” He’d love to just stay here, warm and held, but when he peeks over Steve’s shoulder to make sure Estelle is okay, he groans. “Oh, jesus.”

“What-”

Pulling back, he steps around Steve and goes to crouch by Estelle, grabbing her wrists. She’s spit up all down her front and on the floor, thick and goopy and of course she thinks it’s just brilliant to play in. He grimaces and unsnaps her onesie, pulling it over her head. There’s no way to avoid getting the white yuck in her hair but she’s gonna have to have a bath anyway. He uses the inside of the outfit to clean the spit up off her hands and to wipe up what's on the floor as best as he can before he picks her up and stands. Steve’s already got a wet cloth for the floor and he waves Bucky toward the bathroom.

Bucky gets everything out one handed, Estelle propped on his hip as he holds his wrist under the sink faucet, waiting for the water to get just a little warmer. They _have_ a baby bathtub and Estelle is big enough that he could just bathe her in the regular tub, but the sink is just so much easier on his back. Which makes him sound old, but after being bent over a workbench all day, he’s sore enough to not relish the idea of stooping over a bathtub. Estelle likes baths and she’s old enough to get excited now when they get out the baby towel, the gentle shampoo and bar of lavender soap. He shifts his hold on her and stoppers the drain so that the water will start to fill the sink now that it’s reached a good temperature. “You ready to get clean, Stellie?”

He strips her diaper off and sets her down gently in the sink, grabbing the bar of soap and running it under the stream of water. It doesn’t make bubbles, but it makes the water smell nice. Frowning, he runs his hand over the tangled mess of curls at the back of her head. Lately it seems like her hair is just constantly tangling and even breaking when he tries to comb it out. The only routine they’ve been using for her hair so far had been what Bucky does for his for the most part. Detangling with a wide tooth wooden comb and a little bit of leave in conditioner but leaving them alone other than that whereas Bucky styles his with defining mousse. It’s just… not working anymore. Her soft, loose curls seem to be a thing of the past. He dips a washcloth into the water and gently uses it to wet her hair. “I feel like I’m killing her hair.” He glances over at Steve as he comes into the room. 

“I noticed her curls seem to be more coily and coarser lately. Drier, more tangly.” Steve pushes himself up to sit on the counter. “We’ve been treating it like we might treat our own, but she has a very different texture than either of us do and we need to learn how to take care of it.” He pulls out his phone, smiling when Estelle squeals and starts splashing. After a few quiet moments of him scrolling down the screen while Bucky carefully works shampoo through Estelle’s spit up covered hair, he sets the phone aside and jumps down from the counter. “I’ll be right back.”

Bucky rinses the soap from her curls and grabs the leave in conditioner. It’s so relieving that Estelle is pretty happy, willing to sit and play while he painstakingly detangles the knots in her hair. If she were fighting him and crying, he’s not sure what they would do. He starts at the bottom, working them out one by one. 

“So, this won’t be a fix all.” Steve says as he comes back into the room. He sets a bottle of avocado oil on the counter. “But it should help with the dryness for tonight and I’ll do some more research and pick up some actual good products this week. We’re washing her hair too often and with the wrong products and it’s drying out but we’re not putting any moisture back into it.”

Bucky freezes, halfway to reaching to get more conditioner for the next section of hair. “Should I not-”

“No, you’re okay.” Steve reassures him. “It’s better than nothing.”

He sighs and pumps the product into his palm, working it through her hair, trying to get every strand coated. It takes a good fifteen minutes to get the tangles out- she has a _lot_ of hair, way more than you might expect from a six month old. But he supposes she gets that from him. His hair has always grown at a weirdly fast rate. When he runs the comb through her hair, making sure there’s no more knots, with the curls stretched out it’s already touching her shoulders even though it’s thinner at the back. He steps aside as Steve opens the bottle of oil and pours a little into his palm, rubbing his hands together, making sure the backs are coated and so are his fingers. He works them carefully through Estelle’s hair, forming the little ringlets around his fingers.

Bucky holds the towel open as Steve lifts her from the sink, turning to hand her to Bucky. He wraps the soft terry cloth around her, holding her close. She’s always extra snuggly after a bath. “I love you so much,” he kisses her nose. “Even if you do play in your own throw up sometimes.”

***

Steve shows up at Bucky’s work on Thursday afternoon, a few minutes before time to leave for the day. He’s got Estelle on his hip and instead of her usual springy curls, her hair is neatly done in little twists. Bucky admires the perfect little triangular partings as he takes her. “Did you do these?” He asks, glancing up at Steve. “They’re really good.”

“Yeah, I got some stuff and watched some videos and kind of just went for it.” Steve holds out his hand and Bucky slips his into it, twining their fingers together. “It should help with keeping the moisture in her hair and stop the ends breaking.” They take the elevator down to the garage and as they’re getting in the car, Steve says, “I think Estelle is ready to start eating.”

Bucky groans, leaning his head back against the headrest of the passenger seat. “I know,” he admits. Over the past couple of weeks, she’s been trying to get their food whenever they’re eating, avidly interested in it. As much as he wants to hold onto her being a little baby, it’s time, and he can’t keep ignoring it. She’s also got a second tooth now, next to the one she had cut a couple months ago. “Wanna stop by the store and get some baby food?”

“Yeah,” Steve turns the key in the ignition. “Eventually I’d like to just make it fresh at home but I gotta do some research first.” 

They stop by the Whole Foods that they’d run into Aiden at before and head for the baby aisle. Bucky pulls up a list on his phone of what foods are good to introduce when starting solids and they add a box of brown rice cereal and little jars of sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, bananas, and peaches to the cart. Bucky grabs a set of silicon bibs and a little bamboo baby spoon, just because they don’t have either of those things at home and he doesn’t want to have to go to another store tonight to get them. 

Steve gets distracted reading the label on something, stopping right in the middle of the aisle. Bucky smirks and bumps the end of the shopping cart against his ass. “Hey, you’re causing a traffic jam here.”

“I’m-” Steve turns to frown at him, holding the glass jar out of reach of Estelle’s grabby hands. His eyes widen when he sees Bucky wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “We are in the store.”

“Exactly,” Bucky smiles. There’s no one in hearing distance. “You should be glad I’m not behind the wheel of a car, because I might just crash if I got a look at your ass.” When Steve starts blushing, his smile widens. “But to be fair, I’m not a very good driver at the best of times.” Growing up in the city, he’d never had reason to learn. It wasn’t until he left for college that he finally got his license and he was good enough at it to see himself through those four years but the traffic was nothing like that of New York. He gets anxiety just thinking about driving here. 

“I’ll teach you to drive,” Steve says, putting the jar back on the shelf and stepping around the cart so he’s standing next to Bucky. 

“I hate to break it to you, babe, but if you were driving anywhere but here, you’d probably get ticketed for reckless driving.”

“I haven’t crashed yet, have I?” 

Bucky leans up and kisses the pout of his lips, right in the middle of the store because he _can_. “Don’t get me wrong, I think your super reflexes are very sexy.” He pats Steve’s cheek and steps back, grabbing the shopping cart handle. “Need anything else while we’re here?”

“Uh… yeah, we’re running low on mango juice.” Steve shifts Estelle to his other hip and heads toward the back of the store for the refrigerated section.

By the time they get home, Estelle is fussy, ready to eat. It’s with a bittersweet ache that he sits her on the kitchen floor- they don’t have a highchair yet- and loops one of the bibs around her neck. “Well,” he glances up at Steve, “what’ll it be for first food?”

Steve hums, looking over the jars that are sitting on the counter. Finally he grabs the banana and the spoon, sitting down next to the two of them. “We’ll save the peas for another time.” He twists the lid off of the jar and sets it aside, wrinkling his nose when he sniffs the baby food. “I’ll never get used to how different bananas are now.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky takes the jar from him, scooping a tiny bit of the bananas out on the tip of the spoon. He takes a deep breath. “Estelle,” he says. “Open up.”

“Here comes the airplane,” Steve adds helpfully. “Bananas now are different than the ones I had growing up. Blander.” He pulls out his phone, pointing the camera at them. 

Estelle’s mouth is half open and when Bucky tips the spoon into it, her eyes squeeze shut and she kind of squirms all over. Half the baby food ends up smeared around her mouth so he scoops it back onto the spoon, waiting to see if she’s going to want another taste. She makes a soft sound and leans toward the spoon, mouth open. So that’s that. His baby is eating food now. 

She eats about half of the jar before she starts turning away from the spoon when he offers it, so they clean her up and give her a bottle instead. They make fajitas for themselves- or rather, Steve makes them and Bucky helps chop things- and settle in the living room to eat. Estelle is content playing on the floor with a few toys. She’s not crawling yet, but she’s figured out this sort of inchworm maneuver on her stomach that gets her around enough to keep her happy if something gets out of her reach. 

Steve’s on his second serving when his phone rings. He frowns at the screen and answers. “Rogers.” 

Bucky doesn’t have super hearing to know what’s being said on the other end of the line, but he doesn’t need to because the irritated expression that settles across Steve’s face speaks for itself. A mission? The only ones that would require his presence are the world threatening kind though. Just the thought of that happening again sends Bucky’s heart rate skyrocketing. 

“Yeah, I said that, but that was so that you would tell them all no. No.” Steve is silent for a long moment, listening. “Yes, I understand it’s for a good cause, but I still don’t think…. It’s not my job to be their icon. Fine. We’ll think about it.” He tosses the phone down on the couch with a scowl and stares at it silently. 

“What is it?” Bucky asks, putting his hand on Steve’s knee. _Don’t be a mission_. The call didn’t _sound_ like it, but he has to be sure. 

“That was StarkMedia. They field all the people requesting interviews and appearances.” Steve sighs, setting his plate aside to rub his hands over his face. Bucky breathes out. “Apparently we were photographed again in the store today. Holding hands, kissing. The photos already went viral on social media- I guess whoever took them just posted them instead of taking them to a news outlet. The point is, everyone knows now. They just got a ‘unique request’,” he makes air quotes, “for an interview. It’s for a LGBT platform. They don’t want to talk about me quitting SHIELD, they want to talk to _both_ of us about our relationship and do a photoshoot. To… I don’t know. Raise awareness and fight stigmas toward same sex couples with children. Like, because of me being _me_ , it might change some people’s minds. The proceeds for any traffic the article would get would be donated to charities that support homeless LGBT youth and adoption agencies that help same sex parents.”

Bucky takes a moment before he speaks, gathering his thoughts. He understands Steve’s reluctance to anything involving the press, he does. He’s not exactly thrilled himself at the idea of being hounded by reporters forever. But. “That has the potential to be really good, Steve. It could change people’s lives.” He isn’t stupid enough to deny the fact that Steve and now Bucky by association, have a kind of power. They aren’t going to be left alone. So they can either ignore what they have or they can take control of it and use it for good. 

“I know,” Steve says softly, “but is it so wrong to want this one thing to be just _mine?_ To have _something_ important that hasn’t been shared with the world whether I like it or not?”

“Of course not.” He puts his own plate aside and stands, moving in front of Steve. When Steve looks up at him, he gently cups his face, running his thumbs back and forth over his bearded cheeks. “I’m not saying we should do it. If you don’t want to, then we won’t. I’m not gonna get in a twist thinking you’re ashamed of us or anything.” The truth is that if pictures confirming their relationship without a doubt are circulating the internet, then they’re already being shared with the world and they can’t put the cat back in the bag. But he’s not going to say that. Steve’s a smart guy, he knows. He leans down and kisses his forehead. “I just know if someone I looked up to when I was younger and struggling to accept myself had done something like that, it would have meant a lot, you know?”

Steve bites his lip and sighs. “I just… can we just think about it for a little while? I’m not saying no, just….” 

“As long as you need.”

***

Bucky blinks slowly, staring up at the dark ceiling, trying to figure out what woke him up. His head is still fuzzy with sleep and he doesn’t notice at first, the way Steve is breathing harshly. He’s not thrashing or crying out, but his breaths are ragged and in the faint light of streetlamps coming through the curtains, Bucky can see tear tracks on his cheeks. He doesn’t move, not at first. Well aware of Steve’s insistence that during a nightmare, he should take Estelle and leave the room. This is the first one since that night in the living room- or at least the first one that’s woken him up. If Steve often has ones like this, just crying silently in his sleep, then it's quite likely that Bucky has slept right through them. He knows he should just do what Steve asked him to. But he can’t. Can’t leave him alone in here, trapped in his nightmare.

If he gets a black eye, so be it.

“Steve,” he rolls onto his side, reaching out to lay his hand over Steve’s chest. His heartbeat is kicking against Bucky’s palm, strong and too fast. “Baby, wake up. Steve.” Steve’s hand flies up to grasp Bucky’s wrist, but he doesn’t wake. His grip is gentle enough to not hurt, that’s a good sign. “Stevie. Wake up now.” He leans down and kisses his salty lips, gently. “You’re safe, wake up.”

Steve shudders, eyes flying open. He stares at Bucky in the dark, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Bucky?” His voice is rough, hoarse with sleep.

“You were having a nightmare.” Bucky says softly, holding his breath. He’s expecting it and doesn’t try to hold on when Steve scrambles backwards, back pressed to the headboard, as far from Bucky as he can physically get without being in the floor. “Stevie.”

“I told you if it happened again to get out.” Steve’s hands shake, trembling as he runs them over his face. “It’s not _safe_ , Bucky. I could hurt you. I could hurt Estelle.”

“You’re not going to hurt us.” That much he knows. Even the first time, when he’d pinned Bucky to the floor, he hadn’t used enough pressure to hurt him. And this time he’d been gentle, holding onto Bucky’s wrist in his sleep. “Steve Rogers, you are _not_ going to hurt us.”

“If I did-” his voice breaks. “Bucky, I- this isn’t a good idea.”

“What, _us?_ ” Of everything, he wasn’t expecting that. The words hit like a punch to the gut, stealing his breath in their simple brutality.

Steve’s head flies up, eyes meeting Bucky’s in the dark. “No! God, no... just. The sleeping arrangement.” He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing. “I just… I _can’t_ risk either of you getting hurt.”

“You’re not going back to sleeping on the living room floor, Steve.” Bucky says flatly. Whatever they have to do, they’ll come up with something else. Even before they got together, it had bothered Bucky to see him curled up in a pallet on the floor. Now? There’s no way he’s giving up holding Steve at night. He glances at the clock on his phone. It’s half past four am. At this point, Steve’s definitely not going back to sleep and although he _could_ , Bucky probably isn’t either. “Do you want to tell me about it? The dream?” He sits up fully, drawing his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

Steve licks his lips, blinking rapidly. “It… was the invasion. The aliens. I’ve been dreaming about it since I started thinking about the two years coming up.” The corners of his mouth turn down. “In the dream, you and Estelle were trapped but I couldn’t do anything because I was back in my small body. It’s stupid,” he sighs. “I know you weren’t here and Estelle wasn’t even born.”

“It’s not stupid.” Bucky unfolds his knees and holds his arms out until Steve kind of crumples into him, head in his lap. He combs his fingers through Steve’s hair, repetitive and soothing. “It’s not stupid at all.” And what he’s about to say next might be entirely the wrong thing, but… he has to at least try. He loves Steve, he does, but he’s got trauma that Bucky cannot even begin to comprehend, let alone relate to. He can lend his ear to listen to whatever Steve needs to talk about, but that’s all he can do. He doesn’t know the right things to say or how to help him aside from just _being there_. And frankly, he’s Steve’s boyfriend. It’s _not_ his place to be his therapist too. “Have you considered finding a new psychologist? I know,” he says before Steve can cut him off, “I know your only experience with therapy is shitty. But they’re not all like that. And I could help you research private practices- nothing like someone that has to answer to SHIELD.”

Steve’s silent for a long moment, just breathing steadily in and out. “The reason I went and saw the doctor at SHIELD that day was because of the nightmares. I read about a medication that’s supposed to stop them and I wanted him to give me it.” He sighs and when he shakes his head, his beard rasps against Bucky’s bare thigh. Normally, he’d sleep in pajama pants but with Steve running so goddamn hot, he’s given them up and now just sleeps in his underwear. It’s like sleeping under an electric blanket on high constantly. Not that he’s complaining. “My metabolism is all fucked up because of the serum. So any medication I take has to be in doses high enough to overpower it and it has to be specifically calculated to my body. It can take weeks, months even, to get it right. He wouldn’t give me the prescription, tried to talk to me about meditation instead. I got mad. And then everything went to hell.”

“We can get your records. Find someone that’s willing to work with you and get you on that medication if you really want to try it.” 

“It’s not that simple. Everything is classified so no one tries to recreate the serum again. Even with me not being part of SHIELD anymore, that doesn’t mean they’re just going to give me a physical copy of my records for me to give out to anybody. It’s not just… Google therapists near me, call one up and make an appointment. There would have to be extensive background checks and NDAs signed before I ever even met them. And normally I don’t agree with all that but in cases like this… I do. I’ve seen the serum go wrong. I don’t want that to ever happen again.” Steve turns so he’s on his back, looking up at Bucky. “I’m not saying no. It’s something that’s crossed my mind more than once. I know I’ve got issues and I _want_ to resolve them so that I can go forward and be the best I can be for you and Estelle. But I don’t even know where to start.” 

“Well,” Bucky smiles softly. “It’s nice that you want to be the best you can for us but I want you to be the best you can for _you_. And I think… you need someone that’s good at background checks and someone high ranking in SHIELD to get you a copy of your records. If there’s a physical copy, you can take out any information that might lead to the recreation of the serum. So who do we know that knows how to get a person’s entire history and could get their hands on the paperwork you need?”

A slow smile spreads across Steve’s face. “Natasha Romanoff.”

***

“I can’t deal with this,” Bucky rubs his temples as Estelle starts crying _again_. She’s six months old today and the day before had been her checkup. The vaccinations have her even fussier than she has been any other time- she’d cried half the night. Bucky loves her, he does, and he _hates_ that she’s in pain and he can’t fix it. But he’s got a building migraine from lack of sleep and the extreme amount of caffeine he’s consumed isn’t helping it at all. The only thing it’s done is make him jittery, anxious and queasy. He rolls over to his stomach, pressing his face against one of the throw pillows on the couch and groaning. “My head hurts.” 

“Maybe we should go out.” Steve doesn’t stop pacing, Estelle against his shoulder, his hand making soothing circles on her back as she cries and cries. “It’s nice outside. Maybe fresh air will calm her down. We could take her to the park.”

Bucky turns his head to the side to blink blearily at the two of them. His head is fucking pounding. He’d taken an extra strength Tylenol when it became apparent that caffeine wasn’t going to solve his problems, but it’s yet to kick in. “Yeah, okay.” Evidently nothing they do at home is making her happy so they might as well try. He gets to his feet and grimaces at his wrinkled shirt and stained pants. “Let me change first.”

“That’s fine, I’ll grab the diaper bag.”

They end up at Brooklyn Bridge Park- fairly close to the apartment if she starts getting fussy- but as they head down one of the walking paths, she seems content. Happy in the stroller, her thumb in her mouth. His headache fades to a barely there nuisance once the meds kick in and the fresh air wakes him up, so Bucky’s quite content to walk along with his hand in Steve’s back pocket and the warm sun on his face.

Steve takes one hand off the stroller handle to push his bangs off his forehead. It’s almost funny to Bucky, how quickly he sunburns. They’ve only been outside for about half an hour and the bridge of Steve’s nose and across his cheeks is already rosy. _I don’t need it_ , he’d said while Bucky was rubbing sunscreen over his and Estelle’s exposed skin, _the serum will take care of it_. 

“You’re sunburning,” Bucky points out, just to be a shit. 

“I’m Irish.” Steve rolls his eyes. 

Bucky pulls his hand from Steve’s pocket and stoops to grab the tube of sunscreen out of the basket of the stroller. “Now hold still. And don’t say anything about the serum, I don’t want to hear it.”

The _very_ put upon sigh that Steve lets out is almost comical but he stands still and lets Bucky rub the cream across his face, on the back of his exposed neck, and on his forearms. He does wrinkle up his nose, shuddering a little. “I don’t like the texture.”

“It’ll soak up in a few minutes.” Bucky pats his cheek and tosses the tube back into the stroller, rubbing the extra lotion over his own arms. “Hey, so-” he cuts off, turning when someone taps on his shoulder. “Oh my god.”

“Hi, Bucky,” Alicia says softly. She looks better than the last time he’d seen her- back a year ago when they’d broken up. He hadn’t even seen her when he’d gone to pick Estelle up from the hospital. It’s not that she really looks different, she just looks… happier. But then again, they probably both do. She drags her teeth over her lower lip, hands flexing at her sides. “I know it’s… not my place to talk to you. After everything. But, um, I saw you and I had to say something.” Her gaze flicks to the stroller. The way they’re standing, Estelle is still out of sight. 

Bucky swallows the urge to step between her and the stroller anyway. “Yeah, hi. Uh…” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. It’s a weird kind of deja vu- introducing Steve to yet another of his exes. Except this one he hadn’t ended on such good terms with. “Alicia, this is Steve. Steve, this is Alicia.”

“Oh?” Steve gives her a polite smile, but it’s clear he’s still confused. 

Shit, maybe Bucky had never mentioned her by name. He doesn’t quite remember. “Estelle’s birth mother.”

“ _Oh_.” His eyes widen. He glances around and then points at a bench further down the path. “We’ll be down there, okay?” He touches Bucky’s shoulder and waits for him to nod before he heads off.

Alicia shifts, pushing her long braids over her shoulder and crossing her arms over her chest. She takes a deep breath. “I know I was a shitty girlfriend, okay? I wanted to say I’m sorry for that. And for not telling you I was pregnant and then just… dumping her on you out of nowhere. I didn’t mean for it to happen the way it did. I thought I could do it… be a mom, I mean... but as soon as I held her, I knew I couldn’t. I’m just not ready for that.” 

“You still should have told me from the beginning.” Bucky presses his lips together. “Did you know? Before we split?”

“No. No, I didn’t find out until I was almost six months along.” She sighs. “And I should have called you, or messaged you on Facebook or something. Tried to reach out. I’m sorry for that.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Do you realize how _incredibly_ difficult you were to talk to or be around those last couple of months? And I know,” she lifts her hand before he can interrupt, “I _know_ you were grieving and I know I didn’t respect that. But even before it went to shit, you were impossible. You know, I actually really liked you. But you were so… stuck in your head that you never bothered to really learn anything about me. We partied, we drank, we did shit we probably shouldn’t have. But you never wanted to go to the park and just walk around with _me_. And I expected… I don’t know. I wanted you to act like the perfect boyfriend because you looked like one but I didn’t treat you right either. I wanted you to be someone that you couldn’t be, at least not for me. We’re bad for each other. And it’s obvious we’re both better off out of each other’s lives.”

Bucky tips his head back and blows out a breath. He glances down the path, at Steve, sitting with the stroller facing him and grinning at the baby sitting in it. And he knows everything Alicia is saying is true. It’s so easy to put all the blame on one person, when in reality they both fucked it up. “I don’t regret it, you know.” He says, softly. “Any of it. As bad as it was sometimes.” He looks back at her, giving a small smile. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have either of them. And I’m sorry for being shitty, too.”

“You look happier. More content.” 

“I am. So for that, I owe you a thank you.” The fact is, he’s an entirely different person today than he was when they had been together. It’s not that he was ever a _bad_ person, but he was angry and hurting and immature. Becoming a parent had changed him, brought out parts of him that he hadn’t even known existed. And then Steve had helped that new person emerging to truly blossom. He touches her shoulder lightly. “Are _you?_ ”

“Well,” she laughs suddenly, bright and easy. “I didn’t land a superhero. But yeah, I think I am. I feel like I got most of my shit together now. I’ve just focused on myself, I’m graduating next month and I already have a position with an architecture firm waiting in Seattle, so. Yeah, I am.”

“That’s really good. I’m happy for you.”

“So, you named her Estelle. It’s pretty.” She looks past him, at the stroller, something wistful and bittersweet on her face. 

“Yeah. Estelle because there were a lot of stars out the night she was born, Adelaide after my grandmother.” He takes a deep breath. “Would you like to meet her?” He’s not enough of an asshole to not offer. And he truly doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about- she’s given no indication that she’s interested in actually trying to be a mother now. Worst case scenario, if she tries to run off with Estelle, Steve can chase her down no problem. 

“Please,” she whispers.

“C’mon.” He sets off down the path, walking slow enough that she can keep pace. Steve looks up as they near, his expression guarded as he looks between the two of them. “It’s okay,” Bucky says, squatting down to undo the straps on the stroller and lift Estelle out. She’s drowsy but not asleep yet, heavy eyes and a trail of drool escaping the corner of her mouth around her thumb and trickling down her chin. He doesn’t bother to wipe that off. Turning to Alicia, who’s sat down on the bench, he carefully hands Estelle to her. “Be easy with her legs, she just got shots yesterday.”

She holds Estelle like she’s made of glass, like she’s still newborn and not a sturdy, robust six month old. “Hi,” she whispers, tracing her thumb over Estelle’s cheek. “It’s very nice to meet you again.”

Bucky squeezes onto the end of the bench, next to Steve, slipping his hand into Steve’s waiting one. “It’s okay,” he says again, softly, leaning his head against Steve’s shoulder. “We talked.” Even as brief as it had been, it had been nice. A kind of closure he didn’t know he needed. 

Estelle lets Alicia hold her for a few minutes but soon she starts squirming, twisting around in her hold. As soon as she catches sight of the two of them, she starts crying, reaching for them. Bucky lets Steve lean over and take her so he can stand as Alicia does. He steps around the stroller, stopping in front of her. “Well.”

There’s a sheen in her eyes, unshed tears, but she blinks and it’s gone and maybe he imagined it. “Can I-” She breaks off, shaking her head. “I’m not asking to be in her life as a parent. I can’t be that. Even if I wasn’t about to move across the country. But… I’d like to keep in touch. Send her birthday presents, you know? Visit sometimes, maybe. Like a cool aunt. If that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, of course. I’m not a total asshole anymore, Alicia.” He digs his phone from his pocket and pulls up her old contact, flipping the device around to show her. “Is this still right?”

“No, I had to change my number. Let me,” she takes the phone from him, editing it. She also adds her email before handing it back to him. “Alright, well. I guess I’ll see you around.” Turning, she offers Steve a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well.” He stands and holds out his hand to shake.

They stay at the bench while she heads on down the path, only glancing back once. Bucky sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Wasn’t expecting that today. But it was good, I think. Closure.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “I’m glad.”

“We’re starting new chapters of our lives,” he tips his head back, looking at the clouds. “You nervous for tomorrow?”

“A little.”

As it had turned out, when Steve had asked Natasha to help with the therapy conundrum, it had taken her two days to produce copies of his records and a list of different psychiatrists that were already pre-cleared. Apparently ones that she had shortlisted, considering them for her own counseling, way before Steve had ever asked. So Steve has his first appointment tomorrow. “It’s gonna be okay. And if you don’t like her, you can try someone else. New chapters, right?”

“New chapters.”

***

The office of Steve’s therapist is only a few blocks from their apartment, so Bucky walks over with him and kisses him softly before Steve heads inside. Then he walks a block further down and enters a little cafe, where Aiden is already waiting at a table, ready for brunch. It takes Bucky a second to recognize the girl sitting next to him, even though he’d known she’d be here. Aiden’s little sister, visiting him for her spring break. They’d gotten along well the couple of times they had met in the past.

“What’s up?” Bucky pulls out his chair and sits down, bouncing Estelle on his knee. “Hey, Maddy.”

She looks up at him, smiling brightly. The once long, dark brown hair is gone and now she’s sporting a platinum blonde, sleek chin length cut. “Long time no see, Barnes.” She glances at Estelle and back to him. “You’ve been busy.”

“That’s New York for you. Busy, busy, busy. Is this for me?” He points at the latte on the table. When Aiden nods, he sighs and lifts it to his mouth, taking a long sip. It’s not even cold outside, but he still likes his coffee hot. “Thank you.”

Aiden leans back in his chair, grinning easily. “Yeah, no problem. Didn’t order anything to eat yet, though, you gotta do that yourself.”

“Honestly, I’ll probably just get something small. Steve’s big on eating breakfast, cooks a full spread literally every day.” He sets the mug down and lifts the front of his t-shirt. “Gotta start hitting the gym again. You know what a sucker I am for bacon. And waffles.”

“Oh, please,” Maddy rolls her eyes and pulls out her phone, giving it her full attention.

“Yeah,” Aiden copies her eye roll, kicking Bucky under the table. “The entire time I’ve known you, you’ve subsisted on a diet of nothing but junk food and you never gain a pound.”

“Well, I’m eating things other than junk now.” He props his chin in his hand and drags the menu closer to him, scanning over the options. When the waitress comes over he orders a _king sized_ cinnamon bun. Estelle is happily chewing on a toy, quiet and content. “So yesterday we were at the park and we ran into Estelle’s mom.”

Aiden’s eyebrows go up. “How did _that_ go?”

“It wasn’t so bad actually. We only talked a little bit and she wanted to hold Estelle for a few minutes but it was fine. She wants to keep in touch and gave me her contact info but didn’t ask for mine so the ball is in my court.” Bucky takes another drink of the coffee, shrugging. “I got nothing against it. It’s not like she wants custody or anything.”

“Even if she did, I don’t think you’d have anything to worry about. Seriously, what court would rule against Captain America?” Aiden’s voice is quiet enough that no one that’s not at their table would be able to hear their conversation.

“Well, Steve’s not actually… legally, he wouldn’t be a factor, as it stands.” Bucky licks his lips. He’d had a letter designating Steve as her guardian if anything happens to him notarized, but nothing else. The idea of Steve adopting Estelle isn’t _unappealing_ , they just aren’t quite there yet. As much as it feels like he’s known Steve forever, the truth is, they’ve only known each other for six months. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, because there’s not gonna be a custody battle.” He leans back as the waitress comes up with their food. His cinnamon roll gets set in front of him, but out of reach of Estelle’s hands. Aiden dips one of his french toast sticks into the little bowl of maple syrup that came with it. Bucky smirks and waits. Sure enough, he takes a massive bite and promptly starts hissing, the food burning his mouth. “You never learn, do you?”

Maddy snickers. “He’s been burning his mouth like it’s an Olympic sport and he’s going for gold ever since he was a kid. I don’t think there’s any hope for him at this point.”

“Fuck off.” Aiden wipes his watering eyes on the back of his hand. “I’ll tell mom you got a tattoo.”

Bucky isn’t dumb enough to get his only free hand sticky, so he picks up his fork and uses it to separate a chunk of his cinnamon roll, blowing on it a few times before popping it in his mouth. “ _Ooh_ , a tattoo? Scandalous.” 

“Hurt like a bitch to get,” Maddy leans back in her chair and lifts her shirt just far enough to show off the twin laurel leaves curving across her ribcage. It’s still red and healing, new. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it looks good. I like the style. Did you get it done here in the city or?”

“Yeah, I made Aiden take me when I got in.” She releases the shirt and sits up straight again. “Why, you want to get one done?”

“I always wanted one, just don’t know what I would get,” he shrugs, taking another bite of his roll. His skin prickles, a telltale feeling that he’s getting used to, the way it feels when he’s being watched. And sure enough, out of the corner of his eye, he can see someone pointing their phone at him. He takes a breath, lets it out slowly. There’s no point making a scene over it. This is the life he’s signing up for by being with Steve. And he’s _not_ giving up Steve.

“Well, don’t do a shield, that would be tacky.” She finally picks up her fork, scooping some hashed browns up. “Hey, congrats though.”

“Thanks.” Definitely he would never get a shield. That’s like… the tackiest form of a couples tattoo that he could ever get aside from like… Steve’s name or his face. But even then, at least that would be _Steve_ and not the symbol the government reduced him to. Not that he’s ever been one for couples tattoos in the first place anyway. “Maybe like a little shooting star or something.” It has a trifold significance- Estelle’s name meaning star, his childhood obsession with them, and also Steve. 

“That’d be cute, you should do it.” Aiden says. 

“Hm. Maybe eventually.” They chat for the rest of the meal, dawdling until Bucky’s phone buzzes with a message from Steve that he’s finishing up. When they part ways, Bucky hugs Maddy and gives her his number since he probably won’t see her again before she goes back to school. “Text me where you got that tat done, okay?”

“I gotcha.”

Steve’s waiting on the steps of the office when Bucky walks up, getting to his feet as he approaches. His face is slightly pale, but other than that he doesn’t seem upset, so that’s a good sign. Bucky slips his hand into his. “How’d it go?”

“It… I think it was good.” Steve brushes his bangs back and takes Estelle when she reaches for him. “She was nice. We didn’t really talk about much except my experiences with SHIELD’s therapist and like… what I want to get out of seeing her.”

“So, you think you’ll go back again?”

“We set an appointment for next week, same time.” They walk along in silence for a few minutes before Steve speaks again. “I’ve been thinking about the interview thing.”

Bucky looks up at him. “What do you think about it?”

“If we do it, you know you’ll be more likely to be recognized in public, right?”

“Considering the fact that someone in the cafe today was already taking pictures of me and Estelle, I think they already are.” Bucky smiles ruefully. “It’s fine. I choose you, Steve, even if it means the world gets nosy about us.”

Steve takes a breath. “Then I think… we should do it. There could be really good things that come from it, so. If you’re willing, then I am.”

The idea of actually willingly being in the press is scary, but they’re being talked about anyway. Being able to have some control in the narrative the world sees about them is probably in their best bet. He’s scared, of course he’s scared, that Steve probably has a lot of enemies out there somewhere and that could put Estelle in danger. But there’s no taking back what the world already knows. If they’re gonna be in danger, then they already are. And he’s thinking about the people who will benefit from the proceeds the article will generate. And the people that seeing Steve being open about his sexuality could be a defining moment for them. Bucky, not so much. He isn’t a figure like Steve is; the only reason anyone knows who he is at all is because of their relationship. “I’m willing.”

Steve squeezes his hand. “I’ll make the call later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lord if i were actually good at drawing i would be going crazy drawing for this story... sadly the visuals just live rent free in my head. alas. 
> 
> i don't really have a lot of notes on this chapter, so... i hope you enjoyed?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soooooooooo..... first of all sorry it took me a month to update. this chapter gave me more grief than i expected, in part due to writers block and in part to things happening in real life but at long last i have completed it. i hope you all enjoy!

The cherry blossoms are in full bloom in Prospect Park, where Steve had arranged to meet the reporter. He’s half dreading it, half curious, since it’s not like his usual encounters with the press. Knowing they’re going to have photos taken as well is a little unnerving. But… better to _know_ they’re being taken than to have random strangers photographing them as they’re trying to go about their day. This won’t stop them, of course not, but it feels like he has a semblance of control over it, at least. 

The day before, Steve had stopped by the barber shop and gotten his hair and beard trimmed. Not that having a beard does any good anymore for the original reason he’d started growing it. Everyone knows he has it. But Bucky likes it, so he’s keeping it. He’d started to wear a nice button down and khakis, but apparently they were supposed to be casual, keep it to every day. So he’d gone with a pair of blue jeans and a thin white cotton sweater. It’s warm enough that he’s got the sleeves rolled up his forearms and he doesn’t miss the way Bucky’s gaze lingers. When he flexes, shifting his hold on Estelle, Bucky’s eyes shoot up to meet his, accusing even as a blush spreads across his face. Steve grins unrepentantly. 

Bucky opens his mouth like he’s gonna defend himself and then shuts it just as quickly, shrugging. “I can look if I want to.”

“Never said you couldn’t.” Steve reaches out and grabs his hand, squeezing lightly. “You look good too,” he says loyally. And he does, black ripped jeans and a Fleetwood Mac tee that’s just the right side of worn. Truthfully, the only one really _dressed up_ is Estelle. They’d decided on putting her in a pink sundress with little yellow flowers all over it and her hair is done in springy ringlets. Tomorrow is her first Easter, after all. After the interview thing is over they’re planning on having their own little photoshoot of her in the flowers. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky smiles and shrugs, adjusting the strap of the diaper bag. “Is that her, do you think?” He nods ahead, to the bench right where they’re supposed to be meeting the reporter. 

There’s a woman sitting there, short blue hair ruffling in the breeze. She’s got a padded camera bag at her feet and is tapping her foot rapidly- impatient or anxious. Steve takes a breath. “Yeah, probably.”

The woman looks up as they approach, polite smile as she gets to her feet and holds out her hand. “Hi, thanks for meeting me. I’m Lucy Bishop.”

Steve grasps her hand firmly, meets her gaze for a moment before looking away. “Miss Bishop.” They hadn’t talked over the phone at all- a liaison from StarkMedia had set everything up, so this is truly their first meeting. Most of his experience with journalists is that they’re loud and pushy but honestly… she seems just about as nervous as he is. Her fingers shake lightly in his grip before he draws his hand back. 

“Oh, just Lucy, please.” She shakes Bucky’s hand as well. “So, um, totally up to you guys which order you wanna go in, but I was thinking we do the interview part first and then pictures? I usually find it helps people be more relaxed and natural if we talk and get comfortable instead of just putting you straight in front of a camera.” As she talks her voice gradually pitches higher, words coming faster.

“You’re the expert,” Bucky says, glancing over at him for confirmation.

Steve just nods, taking slow, even breaths. Even though he’s the one who agreed to this in the first place, even though he had prepared for the questions that will no doubt be asked to the best of his ability, the idea of just jumping right into it hits him with a sudden wave of nausea. Oh god, he’s going to have to talk a _lot_. It’s not like an Avengers press conference where the questions are split between six of them and are mostly relating to the battle. This is about his personal life. Told to a complete stranger. For a moment, everything is too much- the sun is too bright, the noise of the other people in the park and the birds in the trees is too high pitched, living under his skin like pins and needles. He squeezes his eyes shut, tries to focus on the rhythmic flicking of his pinky finger against his thumb at his side, the back and forth twist of his wrist. 

Last week at his therapist they’d barely talked about anything, but even still, when he had started getting overwhelmed, she’d walked him through something that helped. 

Count down from one hundred. Ninety nine. Ninety eight. Ninety seven. Estelle is pulling his beard. Ninety six. Ninety five. She’s got a strong hold, it kind of hurts. Ninety four. Ninety three. He grimaces and opens his eyes, squinting as his hand comes up to dislodge her little fist. “That’s not nice,” he says softly and she smiles at him, batting him in the face with her little hand again. The sun is still too bright, hurting, hurting, hurting. 

“Hey,” Bucky steps in front of him, not touching but close. He lifts the dark sunglasses off his own head and holds them out. “Put these on.” 

Snatching the glasses from him, Steve shoves them onto his own face. It doesn’t help with the problem of the noise, but it does mute some of the pain of everything being too vivid and he lets out a grateful sigh. He’s still jittery and nauseated, but it’s a little better. When he glances at the journalist, she seems to have occupied herself with something on a tablet she produced from her bag, letting them have their moment. That doesn’t mean she hasn’t noticed but there’s nothing he can do about that. They’ve agreed to do this, so there’s no getting out of it now. He slips his free hand into Bucky’s, grounding himself in that point of contact. It’s fine. No need to get worked up. 

Bucky’s thumb strokes once over the back of his trembling hand, squeezing lightly. “So, where do you want us?” He asks Lucy, easy charm in his voice. “It’s a little loud here by the path, we could go somewhere quieter?”

“Sure, that’s a good idea,” she agrees easily, “If you’re okay with it, I’m going to be using a audio recorder anyway so I can type it up later. That area over by those trees looks pretty good to me.”

They head over to the more isolated area and it gets just a tiny bit easier, as Steve sits on the grass, letting Bucky take Estelle and situate her in his lap. He pulls a toy from the diaper bag for her to chew on, settling. As Lucy sets up her recording equipment- which is really just a little microphone plugged into her tablet- Steve plucks strands of grass from the ground, shredding them and throwing them down. Just to keep his hands busy. 

“Before I turn this on, just making sure you are both okay with me using a recording device?” She waits for them both to nod before tapping the screen and flipping open the notebook on her knee. “I’m gonna take a few notes as we go as well. Alright, uh. Sorry. I’m a little nervous. Give me a couple minutes to get into my groove.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. She’s not the only one after all. And it goes a ways towards relaxing him, gives him hope that she won’t try to use any means possible to get him to say something about a question if he doesn’t feel comfortable answering. 

She smiles, tiny but grateful. “Right, so kicking things off. It’s… one of the biggest stories in the country right now since the pictures came out that actually confirmed that the two of you are an item. Before, when rumors started circulating, it was a hot debate about whether you were just friends or not but there was no doubt with these recent ones. It’s all over the major news outlets and on just about every gossip rag, but you’ve never actually spoken about your relationship until now, correct?”

Steve shifts, shrugging. “It’s pretty new. And it’s not really anyone’s business.”

Lucy tilts her head, not offended, just curious. “So, why did you agree to meet with me today?”

“It’s a good cause,” he says. “Because… not that it was legal back then, but something like a charity for LGBT homeless youth could have changed my entire life when I was a teenager after my mom died. Because it’s the right thing to do.”

This time, the smile that spreads across her face is genuine and warm, lighting up her eyes. “I know what you mean. The charity the proceeds will be going towards actually saved my life when I was kicked out at sixteen after I came out to my parents. Just want to do what I can to give back to them, you know?” She looks down at her notebook again. “You absolutely don’t have to answer if you don’t feel comfortable and I can cut this out of the final product altogether but if you don’t mind me asking… are you bisexual? Gay? Choose not to label?”

Steve stiffens a little, ripping at his current blade of grass a little too harshly, but he likes how she doesn’t center the question on just him. She looks over at Bucky too, treating them as equals in the interview. The idea of saying it out loud like this, knowing if he does it’ll be spread all over the internet, is a little daunting. But the nice thing about the future is… nobody that matters will care. They all know he likes men already anyway, know he’s with Bucky. He can be exactly who he is without fearing for his safety. And really, he doesn’t care about a reputation. He can be proud. So… fuck it. “I’m gay. And I’ve always known I was. We didn’t really call it that back then though.” Some of the words they’d used… he’d read about them and he’d understood. It’s one thing to call yourself something. It’s another to have those words hurled at you in hate and disgust.

Bucky waits until Lucy nods and looks at him to casually say, “Oh, I’m bi.” He pats the top of Estelle’s head, booping her nose when she looks up at him.

“So, I’m sure a lot of people are curious… how did you two meet?”

“Funnily enough, in the grocery store.” Bucky grins, ruffling Estelle’s curls. “Estelle here was… god, five days old? I was out of _everything_ and she wouldn’t stop crying and honestly, I had no clue what I was doing or how to take care of her. So he taps me on the shoulder and I’m like _oh here we go… gonna tell me to shut her up_ , when I had no clue _how_ to do that. But no, he’s just like… do you need any help?”

Steve swallows, watching him speak. It’s interesting to hear their first meeting told from Bucky’s perspective. He’d never realized Bucky was expecting him to say anything like that, had only seen him frustrated, overwhelmed, and probably near tears, and had known he’d needed to offer what help he could. And Estelle had helped break the ice that would have been there if they’d met alone under different circumstances. “We became friends from there,” he finds himself saying, focused on the memory. It really had all happened so quickly. He’s not sure he believes in the concept of soulmates and things like that, but this… you don’t get a connection like this every day. There’s something special there. “He needed someone to watch the baby during the week and well. I had plenty of free time and didn’t have much to fill it with, so I volunteered. It just kind of… developed from that. Estelle really brought us together.”

Lucy smiles, jotting something down in her notebook. “There was some debate on whether or not she’s adopted, I’m not sure if you’ve seen.”

“I saw it. She’s biologically my daughter.” Bucky winces when Estelle bites his hand, but doesn’t pull away from her grasp. “But I mean obviously, you know, Steve’s been in the picture since she was a week old. He is her other parent.” 

Just not on paper. That fact isn’t included in what Bucky says but it’s there. It doesn’t bother Steve; he’s more than content with what they have now. Although he has flashes of dreams of the future, adopting Estelle, maybe adopting a sibling or two for her. Granted, they’d need to get a bigger place for that… maybe a house rather than apartment…. He thinks it could be nice, to have a place with a yard and maybe a couple of big trees, the kind you can hang a swing from. Or build a treehouse in. Steve had always wanted to have a treehouse growing up but obviously it hadn’t been even a faint possibility. Maybe Estelle will want a treehouse. He’s really good at YouTube now for learning how to do things like that. He could start looking up how to build a treehouse this afternoon…. 

“Steve?”

“Hm?” He blinks, breaking his gaze away from the blade of grass he’s torn to little bits while thinking. The tips of his fingers are stained green. Really, he should be paying attention. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I was just asking how becoming a parent has changed your experience in this century. I doubt you were ever briefed on things like formula and baby yoga.”

“Um, you know, it’s not something I could have really predicted when I came out of the ice. But it’s been the best thing about the future- having Bucky and Estelle both. I don’t think,” he frowns, yanking another blade of grass from the ground and starting to slice it in half with his fingernail. “I don’t think people really realize that my… goal in life wasn’t to be Captain America. And I don’t regret it, really. But it would be nice if they remembered that I’m. Still a person? A lot of times I’m treated like… a historical figure or… just not a real person. I don’t like it. Bucky never treated me like that. He didn’t even recognize me until I told him after over a week. So… it’s really nice to have something soft in my life when it’s just been… violence. For so long. It helped me to remember that I can be _just_ Steve Rogers and that’s part of the reason I left SHIELD. Um. I guess you can put this in the article too, even though it’s not really the topic of discussion. I’m still a member of the Avengers, I only left SHIELD. So anything like the Chitauri invasion will have me back in the field again. I know people were confused on that.” 

“I see. So you’re still Captain America?”

“If a real need arises, I’ll pick up the shield again. But until then, I have a family now. I’m not going to be leaving for weeks at a time on missions that don’t really need someone of my skill level.” He glances over at Bucky, smiling at the soft look on his face. “Isn’t that what the original question was? How being a parent has changed my experience in this century? There you have it. I don’t regret being Cap, but it’s time for me to be just Steve now. And I guess we’ll see where that takes me from here.” He’s a little surprised at himself, at how easily the words had come to him. But maybe that’s love. Having Bucky and Estelle as part of his life is something he’s _proud_ of. Something he achieved entirely on his own as Steve Rogers. Bucky truly doesn’t care about the titles and the fame and he’d still deemed Steve a person that he _wants_ around. 

Even though Bucky doesn’t speak, he doesn’t need to. His eyes are bright and he reaches out and grabs Steve’s hand, squeezing tight. Steve threads their fingers together and holds tight. His family. 

They go through a few more questions mostly directed at Steve before Lucy switches off the recorder and shuts her notebook. “Thank you so much, again. I appreciate your willingness to answer questions and your honesty a lot. This will… probably be the biggest piece of my career, honestly. I can’t tell you how much it means.” She puts her things in the bag, switches them out for a camera that she loops around her neck. “I have a few thoughts in mind for photos but if you’re not cool with any of them, that’s okay! We’ll figure it out.”

It takes probably a good hour and a half before they finish- Lucy takes pictures of the three of them together and each of them separate in several different poses before she’s done. But she makes it easy at least, keeping up a steady stream of chatter about the antics of a cat that lives in her building. It keeps them relaxed, helps the photos to come out more natural instead of posing. They’re good, when she shows them to them on her iPad. They’ll be edited before the article is published, of course, but even like this they’re… _really_ good. Steve especially likes the one where Estelle had been starting to fuss so he’d been trying to make her happy again- lifting her up in the air like an airplane one handed and blowing through his lips to make the engine noise. Bucky is laughing, standing only slightly to the side, hands on his hips as he watches the two of them. When he asks, Lucy happily agrees to email him all of the photos. 

By the time they part ways with her, they’re all hungry so they head over to one of the vendors. While Bucky orders for them, Steve mixes up a bottle for Estelle and settles down to feed her in a quiet section of grass nearby. “That wasn’t so bad,” he says as Bucky approaches, arms laden with food. “I thought it would be harder.”

“Yeah, I liked her.” Bucky sits, carefully setting the food down on the ground. He pops a fry into his mouth. “I feel like she’ll actually write it without embellishing our words or adding things we never said, you know?”

Steve hums, reaching for the food. “I hope so.” He’s careful to hold the paper plate under his slice of pizza as he lifts it to his mouth- the last thing he wants is greasy, hot cheese to slide off and accidentally burn Estelle.

“Hey,” Bucky nudges his thigh gently. “How are you feeling now? It was rough at the beginning, right?”

It’s hard to explain, really, what it’s like. But he tries. “Sometimes things are just too much. Today it was anxiety over the interview that made it start. When it happens, it’s like… all of my senses are hyperaware of everything. The light hurts. The noise hurts. Sometimes it feels like my clothes are made of sandpaper or smells will be overwhelming and make me feel sick. Sometimes I can focus on something else and push it to the background and sometimes I can’t.” He smiles, a little tight. “I’ll probably end up in a very hot shower for a good hour and put on really tight clothes tonight. It helps, sometimes.” 

“Okay. If you need to go home, we can leave whenever you want.” Bucky says, picking up his own slice of pizza. “But thank you for telling me. I love you.”

It’s such a simple response but it’s honestly the best one Bucky could give him. He doesn’t try to relate any of his own experiences to it or say he understands something that he can’t possibly unless he _has_ experienced it himself. But the way he listens and doesn’t judge, just accepts it as part of who Steve is and is open to changing plans to take it into account if necessary… it just feels really good. “I love you, too.” He smiles. “I really do.”

***

In stark contrast to the SHIELD psychiatrists office, Steve’s new therapist’s work space is full of bright colors and natural light. Sleek couches forgone in favor of giant yellow and blue beanbags, abstract art and photography of the city hung on the walls. The rugs are patterened and layered so they overlap in places and there are plants _everywhere_. It’s chaos and normally that would make Steve feel like he was about to crawl out of his skin, but there’s a rhythm to this. Everything works together, the colors and patterns complimenting instead of clashing. He’s half sitting, half lying on the yellow beanbag, looking over at the cat that’s laying in a puddle of sun under one of the big windows. 

“How was your week?” Steve’s therapist, Colleen, asks as she sits down across from him. She’s got wide brown eyes and her hair is almost scarily long- halfway down her thighs. “Anything exciting happen?” 

He shrugs, picking at the skin around his nails. The details of his week aren’t particularly exciting- the only unusual thing that happened was the interview the day before but he doesn’t really want to talk about that. “Did you talk to my medical team about the medicine for the nightmares?” He asks instead of answering her question. They’d briefly talked about it at his first appointment, how that was one of his biggest reasons for even doing it. They’re starting to get bad again and even though he hasn’t hurt Bucky or Estelle, he _has_ to get this worked out before it does happen.

The cat gets up from it’s spot, padding over and curling up in Colleen’s lap. “Have you been having nightmares?” She asks softly, rubbing behind the cat’s ears. 

“A few this week. Last night one that woke Bucky up.” And in turn, he’d woken Steve from the dream he’d been trapped in, unable to pull himself out of it alone. “I need them to stop.”

“Do you remember what the dreams were about? Were they the same or different as ones that you’ve had before?”

He shakes his head. “I used to just dream about the war. Different parts of it, but always the war. The past few weeks it’s been the invasion. The aliens. Always the same. I’m in the battle and then I’m back to being small and weak again and Bucky and Estelle are trapped and I can’t do anything to save them.” It’s fucking awful how vivid they are. How his brain feeds him exact details of the battle- the sting of injuries all over, the screaming of the sirens and the sounds the aliens had made. The smoke and rubble filling the air, choking him every breath. And within all that, somehow he finds himself in front of the building Bucky had lived in when they’d first met. He sees the flames in some of the units and one corner completely demolished after being hit by the space whale. He sees the chitauri scaling the sides and climbing through the windows and in one of them… Bucky standing there, face chalk white with terror and Estelle screaming in his arms. And he’s small and he can’t breathe and his heart is beating too hard in his chest and there’s nothing he can do but stand there and yell as the aliens drag them back, out of his sight. “I can’t keep doing this. Please.”

“I did speak with your medical team and they’re working on formulating a prescription for you. But it’s a delicate process, Steve. I’ll let you know as soon as they have it ready, but we need to find a solution that will give you some peace in the meantime.” She frowns, stroking over the cat’s back several times. “You said you used to only dream about the war and it’s just recently that this new nightmare has started, yes?” At his nod, she hums. “Has there been any particular catalyst that you can think of that might have brought this nightmare on?”

“Um.” He pulls at a loose piece of skin beside his nail until it comes off completely, leaving a tiny drop of blood beading on the surface. It’ll heal in seconds. “It’s a little hard to say. I mean… well, first Natasha was trying to get me to go to a memorial gala. And then Bucky got upset because his parents _died_ in the battle and obviously he doesn’t want to think about the anniversary. But now we’ve both been thinking about it anyway and there’s still a bunch of emails about different events that people want me to attend for it and I don’t really want to go to any of them. And there’s been discussion about it- the anniversary, I mean- on the news. It’s pretty much impossible to escape being reminded of it, living in the city it happened in.”

“Have you considered leaving the city for a little while?” Colleen leans forward, moving her hair behind her shoulder. At his confused look, she smiles. “You have done more than enough, just being there and fighting in the battle. You are not required to stay here or to go to any events. It’s perfectly understandable if you want to just… get away. Take a couple weeks and go on vacation. You said Bucky struggles with the anniversary, too? Both of you might need some time out of the city.”

It’s… not a bad idea. The prospect of just being able to take a break is so goddamn appealing. No people asking him to say things about the invasion when he still barely believes that aliens are a genuine thing. Even with all he’s seen. Maybe somewhere _away_ , somewhere untouched by the battle, he and Bucky would both be able to breathe a little easier. No papers taped to windows and pinned on bulletin boards announcing memorial services, no reminders on every corner. No buildings that _still_ aren’t done rebuilding. A sleepy little town where nothing fucking happens and maybe, just maybe… he’ll be able to sleep in peace again. “What about you?” He glances up at Colleen, frowning. “If I leave, how will we have these sessions?”

He’d meant it when he’d said he wants to get better and if this is what it takes, then he’s committed to it. Even when it’s difficult.

“Well… either we can have a pause and you can see me again when you get back or we can have sessions over Skype. It’s up to you, really. You’re _in charge_ , Steve. Nothing happens that you aren’t comfortable with.”

“I’ll have to talk to Bucky. About the vacation thing, not… not the being in charge thing.” He doesn’t even know if Bucky will be able to get off work for that. Or even if he’d actually want to go. He doesn’t even know _where_ they would go. 

“Of course. If you do decide to leave, just call me or email to let me know what you want to do about our sessions for that time. Now… I have a few other ideas that might be a more immediate help with the nightmares.”

***

Bucky absolutely jumps on the idea of getting away for a couple of weeks. The sheer relief on his face when Steve runs the idea by him is almost startling. All it takes is a phone call for him to get the time off work- the week before the anniversary, the week of it, and the week after. It’s a little more difficult to decide where to go- Steve doesn’t want to go too far away just in case something _does_ go wrong and he’s needed and Bucky doesn’t really care as long as it’s not the south. So after much debate and much searching on the internet, they settle on Maine. A tiny town on the coast and a lighthouse home available to rent, all theirs for just over three weeks. 

He picks Bucky up from work on Friday, the back of the car already packed with their bags and Estelle sleeping in her seat. “Ready to go?”

“More than,” Bucky groans, leaning his head back against the headrest as Steve backs out of his parking spot. “This week passed so slow, I swear.”

“Well, we still have a long drive to get through but…”

“Yeah, but that’s part of the fun. I love road trips.” Bucky grins, reclining his seat lightly. “And since you’re driving, I get to just chill out and be comfortable.” Which he demonstrates by toeing off his shoes and putting his feet up on the dash. “Besides, knowing the way you drive? Won’t be _that_ long, especially once we get out on the open highway.” 

Steve suppresses a smirk. “Maybe.” The GPS had said it would be a six and a half hour trip. He’s thinking a couple hours less, at least. It’ll still be dark when they get there but they should have enough time to settle in a little before going to bed. “Feel free to change the music, if you want. And there’s a bag of snacks under your seat if you’re hungry but I figure we’ll stop somewhere for dinner in a bit.”

“Oh, thank god, I’m starving.” Bucky sits upright again, taking his feet down so he can lean over and grab the bag. He pokes through it, pulling out a zip bag full of Goldfish with a delighted hum. “Steve! You brought junk food!”

“Well, it’s a special occasion. Just don’t eat my Oreos.” He tries to sound stern but he’s smiling when he glances over. “And there’s a package of baby wipes in the door for when you need to clean your fingers off.” 

“You’re my favorite person, actually.”

“Even over Estelle?” He teases.

“You’re _both_ my favorites, just in different ways.” Bucky amends. He drops a couple of the crackers into his mouth. “So. What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

It’s the right thing to ask- or the wrong thing, depending on who’s asking- because Steve has been going over this in his head for the past two days since he’d sent the payment and secured the house. He’s pulled up maps of the town and figured out where the stores they’ll need are and memorized the streets. “I’ll go to the grocery store in the morning, probably before you wake up, and stock up for the week. Make breakfast and clean up.” The landlord had said he was having someone go in and clean the place before their arrival but Steve still wanted to go over the place himself. Do a more in depth sweep for surveillance bugs than the one he would be doing upon their immediate arrival. “Then unpack everything. I was thinking we could make some sandwiches and spend a couple of hours on the beach before Estelle needs to nap and then go out somewhere for dinner and explore the town a little in the evening. If you want to.” He’s set on his morning plans but if they end up staying in for the night that would be okay too. 

But Bucky says, “That sounds nice,” and smiles brightly. “And you know, if you don’t want to go shopping alone, you can wake me up. I won’t mind.”

“You say that now,” Steve smirks as he changes lanes. “But the moment I did, you would be grumpy and pull the blankets back over your head.”

“I won’t mind in spirit.” The words come out sheepish. They both know Bucky is anything but a morning person. He sleeps until the last possible minute and half the time he’s rushing to get ready to leave on time, eyes still half shut when he heads out the door.

Steve gets on the 95 heading out of the city and it isn’t long before they’re well into Connecticut. His stomach is starting to rumble and Estelle is fussing so he pulls off the interstate at the next exit. They decide on a little pizza parlor and head in. Seated in a booth toward the back, Bucky secures a bib around Estelle’s neck and feeds her a jar of sweet potatoes. She’ll probably have a bottle too, but if she has it right before they get back on the road then maybe it’ll put her back to sleep. He orders two large pizzas and they eat their way through them, grease all over their fingers. Estelle tries her hardest to reach for their food but they never let her get close enough to burn herself. When they get back on the road it’s almost fully dark out and Bucky sits in the back, next to Estelle, getting her to fall asleep again before he crawls into the front seat. 

“I could have pulled over, you know.” Steve glances over at him as he clicks the seatbelt into place.

Bucky just shrugs. “Stopping might have woken her. Easier this way.”

“Unless I had to hit the brakes and you went flying through the windshield.”

“But you didn’t.” Bucky twists around in his seat until he’s pretty much laying on his side with how far reclined it is. “Have you ever been to Maine?”

“No. Farthest north I went for the USO tour was Boston and then I was on the front and then… well, you know. And since I’ve been here I haven’t really traveled except for missions.” He pauses. “Actually, I haven’t _ever_ traveled anywhere the government didn’t send me. Growing up, we were too poor. Spent my entire life in the city until they sent me to Jersey for bootcamp. So… I guess, even though I’ve been all over the world, this is my first _real_ vacation.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make it a totally awesome one, won’t we?” Bucky smiles at him, reaching over to pat Steve’s knee. “I’m thinking… sailing and sand castles and stargazing. Sunburns. Little hole-in-the-wall antique stores and ice cream parlors. Day trips when we get bored of being in the same place the whole time. Just a bunch of fun and relaxation and no need to work at all. Sound good?”

“Sounds great. Really.” Steve passes a truck that’s moving far too slow for his liking, pressing down on the gas pedal as soon as he’s got the open stretch of highway ahead of him. This late in the evening, there’s hardly any traffic, just a few cars here and there. Silhouettes of trees on either side of the road, rising into the sky. “I don’t think the lighthouse actually works but I think I’d like to paint it anyway. I brought some things- paints, an easel, a few small canvases.” It’s not that he doesn’t get to paint at home, but his free time is erratic at best. He might get a couple hours in here and there when Estelle is napping or content to entertain herself in some way but even six months of caring for her, it’s still surprising how busy he is just as a stay at home dad. It sends a little thrill through him, thinking of himself that way, but it’s true. He reaches over in the dark and takes Bucky’s hand, twining their fingers together. “I love you.”

Bucky squeezes gently. “Love you, too.”

They fall into a comfortable silence and eventually Bucky’s hand goes limp in his grip as he starts snoring softly. Steve carefully extracts his hand and turns down the music to a barely there background noise. The miles pass in quiet peace, crossing into Massachusetts and then into Maine. He cracks the windows, just a little, just enough to let in the sea air, but it has Bucky stirring from his sleep. 

“Mm,” he mumbles, sitting upright and rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?”

“Maine. You’ve been out a few hours.” Luckily, so has Estelle. It probably means they won’t get much sleep tonight, but he’ll make that sacrifice if it keeps her from screaming for the entire trip. “We’re about twenty minutes away from the house.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s okay. You were tired.” Steve pats his knee. “And you didn’t really miss much, anyway. Too dark to see anything.”

“I missed spending that time with you.” Bucky yawns as he reaches for the lever to adjust his seat so it isn’t reclining anymore. “And sorry that’s cheesy, but I think I’m allowed to be.”

Steve suppresses a smile. It’s not like he would ever complain about that. “At least we have the next three weeks to spend time with no other responsibilities.” He guides the car onto the exit ramp and turns right at the stoplight. There’s a hazy fog the closer they get to the coast and the lighthouses rises in front of them like a dark shadow when he pulls into the drive and parks. It’s just after eleven, they made pretty good time, and when he steps out of the vehicle the chill in the air is almost startling. “Stay here, I’m gonna check the place over. Just in case.”

“Alright.”

The key is taped to the bottom of the flower pot beside the front door, just like the landlord said it would be and Steve lets himself in, flipping the lights on. He works methodically, room by room, sweeping for bugs and finding none. The rooms are nicely decorated, in blue, white, and sand colors for the most part. In the living room there’s a big stone fireplace and in the main bedroom the bed has a note on it from the cleaner that says the bedding is freshly laundered. He bites his lip, looking around the small room. The king size bed takes up ninety percent of the space, really only leaving room to walk around it. He highly doubts Estelle’s bassinet will fit in the room. There is a second bedroom across the hall that only has a twin bed- and thus, more floor space- but they’ve never had her sleeping in a different room. 

But, boy, had they considered it a couple of times.

He heads back outside and finds Bucky sitting in the backseat of the car, Estelle in his lap, wide awake. “Oh boy.”

Bucky half smirks, half grimaces. “Yeah, she won’t be the only one napping tomorrow. All good in the house?”

“Yeah,” he shoulders a couple of the duffle bags of their things, just the stuff they’ll need tonight. Everything else can stay in the car until it’s actually light out. He grabs Estelle’s bassinet, too, and shuts the back hatch.

Bucky grunts as he gets out of the car, walking stiff as they head toward the house. “Jesus, my legs are dead.” He looks around curiously as soon as they’re through the little mudroom and into the living room, eyes lighting up at the sight of the fireplace. “We’re totally lighting that.”

“Gotta keep Estelle away from it, though. Even not lit. Don’t want her to crack her head open on the hearth.” Steve drops the things he’s carrying, pushing them against the wall so he can flop down on the couch and stretch out. He’s been driving all afternoon and even with the serum, it does get tiring. Rubbing his eyes, he yawns. “I don’t think we’ll be able to fit her bassinet into our room. Go take a look and tell me what you think.”

There’s a few minutes before Bucky returns, sitting down on the edge of the couch next to him. He sits Estelle on Steve’s chest and sighs. “Yeah, there’s no way.”

Steve grabs hold of Estelle’s hands, her fists wrapping around his thumbs. “So….” He _really_ isn’t comfortable having her in bed with them, with the frequency of his nightmares lately. At least if he’s flailing around and Bucky gets in the line of fire, he’s a grown man. Estelle is just… she’s so tiny. All it would take is one bump that’s a little too hard and he could seriously, _seriously_ hurt her. 

“So. I guess it’s time to cut the apron strings a little.” Bucky reaches up and strokes his hand through Steve’s beard. “She’ll just be across the hall, it’s fine. Probably a good thing. And,” a smile plays across his lips. “More privacy for us.”

Yeah, that thought had crossed his mind too. Steve takes a slow breath and lets it out. “But not tonight.” By the time Estelle actually gets sleepy again, it’s likely to be the middle of the night and they’ve already had a long day. 

Bucky pats his cheek. “Not tonight.”

***

Steve wakes up later than usual, but that’s not surprising. They hadn’t gone to sleep until half past two in the morning. Bucky is still out cold when he gets out of the shower, one arm thrown over his eyes as he snores softly. The grocery store is only a few blocks from the house so Steve pulls on a hoodie and running shoes, slipping out the front door after checking on Estelle. He jogs up to the shop, ignoring the fog and the faint drizzle that’s coming down. It’s chillier here than in New York, but the salt air is fresh and wakes him up. There’s no one but the employees in the store, which is nice as he pushes his cart up and down the aisles, getting the things on his list. Even though he didn’t bring the car, he doesn’t hold back, getting enough food that they’ll be able to cook for the week. Carrying large amounts of groceries probably wasn’t what the government had in mind when they’d pumped him full of the serum, but it’s definitely a handy skill to have. The sleepy cashier gapes at him a little when he grabs all of the bags with little issue, recognition dawning in his eyes, but he doesn’t make a scene.

When he gets back to the lighthouse, he can hear the bathroom sink running, the hum of Bucky’s electric toothbrush. Surprising- he’d expected him to be asleep for at least another hour. It’s still only just past eight. He sets all the grocery bags on the table and starts unpacking them- cold items going into the fridge or freezer and nonperishables into the cabinets- except for what he’s going to be using to cook. There’s a recycling bin in the corner next to the trash so he puts all the bags into that. After putting a rack of bacon in the oven, he takes a skillet down from the pot rack. He’s cracking eggs into it when Bucky comes into the room. 

“Morning,” he mumbles, walking up to him and wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist from behind, face pressed against his back. “Did you get coffee?”

“In the drawer under the coffee pot.” Steve discards the last eggshell and turns to the sink. Bucky still doesn’t let go even while he’s washing his hands and when he finishes, he turns around, still in his arms. “You’re clingy today.”

Bucky hums, tightening his hold around Steve’s waist. “Missed you.”

Tilting Bucky’s chin up with his forefinger, Steve leans in and kisses him. There’s an unhurried ease to it, Bucky leaning into him, fingers creeping up under the back of Steve’s shirt. He cups Bucky’s jaw in one hand, slides the other into his messy hair. It doesn’t ever get old, no matter how many times they’ve kissed. He still drowns a little in it every time, in the faint minty taste clinging to Bucky’s mouth, in the feel of Bucky’s skin on his. Bucky’s fingers dig into the small of his back and Steve starts walking him backwards, across the kitchen floor. When they bump up against the counter, he drops his hands to Bucky’s thighs, hoisting him up to sit on the wood top.

Bucky smiles against his mouth, squeezes his legs against Steve’s sides. “Your eggs are gonna burn,” he says between kisses. One finger trails down Steve’s cheek, tracing the line of his jawbone, before the hand falls to his chest and pushes gently. “Go stir them. I’m not going anywhere.”

Huffing, Steve steps back. And yeah, Bucky was right. The eggs are definitely not going to be the best tasting thing he’s ever made, but they’ll do. It’s good that they stopped anyway, because it isn’t two minutes later when Estelle starts fussing. 

“I take it back.” Bucky raises his brows, sliding down from the counter. “I am going somewhere.”

Steve swats him teasingly with a dish towel as he passes, heading for the doorway. “See how you are.” But he smiles and waves him off, turning his attention back to the mess on the stove. There’s very little that he’ll be able to do to make them taste any better, but he tries his best with what he has in the kitchen. By the time Bucky comes back into the room, Estelle on his hip, he’s dishing up their plates, Estelle’s bottle is made, and he’s got coffee brewing too. “Before you say anything, remember it’s partially your fault these don’t taste right.” He hands Bucky his plate, trading it for Estelle. She reaches for the bottle eagerly and he lets her have it. 

“Still better than anything I could do and you know it.” Bucky kisses his cheek and goes over to the breakfast nook. There are two chairs on one side of the table and on the other side, a window seat bench. The window looks right out on the ocean, the shore half obscured by fog. Bucky sits on the bench and pushes the window open just a little, the breeze ruffling his messy hair. He inhales deeply, his eyes closing. “I love it here.”

God, he looks beautiful like that; with the muted morning sun highlighting the planes of his face, his chin tilted up and his lashes resting smudge dark against the skin under his eyes. Unbrushed hair seems less disheveled and more… soft. Like everything has taken on a dreamy, hazy quality. Steve could stay in this moment forever. Though it may not physically last, he has a set of watercolor paints that he’ll be putting to use for this. Bucky’s eyes flutter open and he glances over, breaking the spell. Steve swallows. “As tempting as it is, I think we’d be missed if we never went back.” he shrugs as he pulls out one of the chairs and sits, settling Estelle in his lap. 

“So, the plan is we fake our deaths and start a new life here with new identities. I could totally make a living off of the land. And Etsy.” Bucky scoops his eggs onto one of his slices of toast, tops it with the strips of bacon, and then puts the other toast on top of it, lifting it to his mouth. 

Steve shakes his head, a little in wonder, because somehow Bucky _never_ makes a mess of food escaping from his sandwiches. “I mean… I’ve kind of already done that. Minus the new identity thing. And the faking death wasn’t exactly intentional….” He grabs a slice of bacon off of his plate- piled _much_ higher with food than Bucky’s- and takes a bite out of it. 

Bucky looks at him for a long moment and then stands, coming around the table to squeeze his shoulder before walking over to the coffee machine. “If you ever want to talk about it-”

“I don’t remember much of it.” Steve says, before Bucky can finish the sentence. And that’s the honest truth. He’d blacked out when the plane hit the ice and had only barely regained consciousness for a few moments before the ice fully took him. “Just the dark.” And he’s so grateful for that, because he doesn’t even want to think of how fucked in the head he would be if he’d been awake for every awful second until his ‘ _death_ ’. He’s already got enough of that for more than one lifetime, thanks. 

Bucky finishes making his cup of coffee, coming back to the table. He kisses the top of Steve’s head as he passes by and when he sits, he knocks his socked foot against the side of Steve’s. “Well, I’m glad for that, then.” He takes a long swallow of his coffee and glances out the window again. It’s just getting rainier. “I’m not so sure about that bit about exploring the beach, though. Might have to put it off for another day.”

“Probably,” Steve adjusts his hold on Estelle so she’s turned away from the table, sitting sideways on his leg, that way he can eat without her reaching for every bite he takes. “That’s okay, though. We’re here for a while.” The beach will still be there when the rain clears and the air is warm again. 

And in the meantime, they have no outside responsibilities. Just the lighthouse and them.

They spend the day indoors since it just _keeps raining_. He briefly goes outside, but only to bring in the rest of their bags. After cleaning up the place after breakfast, they go up to the top of the lighthouse with some blankets and hang out there for a little while. Steve hunched over his sketchbook and Bucky half dozing while Estelle plays. They all end up taking a long afternoon nap, the lack of sleep catching up to them. Luckily, Estelle goes to sleep for the night at a decent time. Neither of them are particularly tired yet, though, so they light the fireplace and settle on the couch. There had been a bottle of wine in one of the cabinets- included with the rental- so they both pour a glass of that even though it won’t do anything for Steve. 

“I always wanted a fireplace,” Bucky says softly, staring into the fading embers. “I’ve only ever lived in apartments, so… not really a thing that you generally get with those. But I’ve always liked them.” He tips his glass to his mouth and drains the last few sips left. 

Steve watches the movement of his throat as he swallows, watches the way he twists the stem of the wine glass back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. And he wants. But he doesn’t want to just push himself on Bucky with no buildup, even if he would be welcomed. It’s more fun to let the moment play out. And when he’s quiet, Bucky glances over at him, a slow smile curling across his lips as he takes Steve in. 

“See something you like?”

Tilting his own glass to his mouth, Steve raises one eyebrow. “Always.” He sets the empty glass on the coffee table and shrugs. “But if you’re tired, it’s okay.”

“No, I’m awake.” Bucky half scoots, half crawls across the couch until he’s straddling Steve’s lap, hands rubbing over Steve’s chest, his shoulders. “I’m so awake.” He tilts his head, pressing their lips together. 

Steve keeps one hand at Bucky’s hip, the other combing through his hair as they kiss. Languid and easy, just soaking in the moment. Bucky’s mouth is coated in the taste of the wine but so is Steve’s. He strokes his thumb back and forth across Bucky’s hipbone, pushing up under his shirt. It makes Bucky smile against his mouth, makes him pull back just enough to tilt his head to the side and come back in. With intent, this time. 

Content to let him take the lead, Steve relaxes into the couch, both of his hands pushing up the back of Bucky’s shirt. His back is hot under Steve’s fingers, muscles jumping at his touch. Bucky makes a soft noise into his mouth, biting at his lower lip. He leans back again, arms lifting and Steve takes the hint. He pulls the shirt up and off, tossing it to the side. Sitting up straighter, he fists his hand in the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. Tilts his head to the side so that he can start to lay a trail of biting kisses along the curve of his shoulder, the underside of his jaw. Bucky swears, low in the back of his throat, and his hips roll down against Steve’s. It makes Steve clench his fist a little tighter, bite a little harder. “That’s it, baby.”

It’s so _easy_ to wind Bucky up- all it takes is a little show of strength, a pet name whispered in his ear and it has him shuddering and pressing their mouths together. Body writhing, undulating against Steve’s. “Fuck,” he pants against Steve’s lips. “You’re a dream, you know that?” 

“Takes one to know one.” Steve releases his hold on Bucky’s hair to drag his fingers over his jawline, stroking over his swollen lower lip. Bucky’s mouth opens, his tongue coming out to press hot against the pad of Steve’s thumb. It’s mesmerizing, Steve’s gaze caught and his breath hitching in his throat. Fills his mind with depraved ideas, memories of Bucky on his knees between his legs. As tempting as it is- the knowledge that all he’d have to do is push a little on Bucky’s shoulder and say _please_ to have him sliding to the floor right here- that isn’t what he’s after tonight.

Yeah, they still have to keep an ear out for Estelle, but it’s late and she’s likely to sleep for hours before she stirs to be fed or changed. At home, they steal moments together during her naps, when she’s in the crib in the nursery, but they don’t really get chances like this. And even those times that they do have are less often than they’d like. Bucky’s gone all day through the week and the weekend only has so many hours and Estelle keeps one or both of them busy most of the time. And she sleeps in their room so no chance to take their time at night either. 

But now…. 

Oh, he’s gonna take his time. For the first time in his life, really. He pulls Bucky in again, curls his tongue into the heat of his mouth. He drags his blunt nails up and down Bucky’s side until gooseflesh erupts under his touch, until Bucky shivers and groans. Hands fist in the front of Steve’s shirt, tug at it insistently. “Off. Jesus, just-”

Their mouths part with a slick noise as Steve leans back, grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks it over his head. It joins Bucky’s on the floor, unneeded and forgotten. 

“You’re _so_ ,” Bucky sucks his lower lip between his teeth, eyelids heavy, pupils blown wide. His hands drift across the breadth of Steve’s shoulders, over his pecs, just barely brushing fingertips against his abs, almost reverent. And that totally does it for Steve- the feather light touches have his skin pricking hot all over, a noise caught in the back of his throat. Bucky’s mouth quirks wickedly at that, his gaze flicking up to Steve’s. “You like it when I touch you, Stevie?”

Steve laughs, a little pathetic with how breathless it is. “Yeah, baby.”

Bucky shivers, his eyes closing for a moment. “That’s good, ‘cause I wanna touch you _everywhere_. But not here.” He pushes at Steve’s hands until he drops them from his hips, so he can climb off his lap and Stand. Before Steve can even get further into his complaint than a frown, Bucky is saying, “Steve. Bedroom. C’mon.” He doesn’t waste any time grabbing Steve’s hand and pulling him up, dragging him down the short hallway. 

The bedroom is lit by the lamp on one of the nightstands, casting a warm glow everywhere. Steve shuts the door with his foot- gently, because Estelle is just across the hall and he _really_ doesn’t want to wake her- and crowds Bucky backwards until his thighs hit the mattress. His eyes are burning dark, locking on Steve’s as he scoots back and Steve crawls over him. Knees on either side of Bucky’s hips, one hand gliding up his side. He kisses the line of Bucky’s collarbones, down the center of his chest, over his tense stomach, lips curling up at the soft noises he makes. “Can I?” He traces one finger back and forth over the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants.

Bucky shudders and nods, lifting his hips up as Steve strips off the pants and underwear beneath them. They get tossed to the floor with a muted thump. Steve runs his hands up and down Bucky’s lower legs, feeling the lithe muscle in his calves. As his touch moves further up, the hair goes from thick and coarse to softer and sparser. Really, Bucky doesn’t have all that much body hair at all. Light spattering across his chest, a small thatch at the base of his dick, leading up to his belly button. Steve loves every bit of it. He turns his head and kisses the inside of one thigh and Bucky sighs. 

“Can I?” He asks again, breathes the words against the bend of Bucky’s thigh. And Bucky whispers _yeah_ , fingers carding through Steve’s hair. There’s already slick beading at the head of his cock, lying heavy against his stomach, and Steve drags his mouth against it, looks up. Bucky’s eyes go impossibly darker, even the air around them heavy, paused in this moment. He licks his lips, tastes the salty tang of precome and then closes his eyes, leaning back in. 

Blowjobs are kind of a love-hate relationship for Steve. He _likes_ the weight and heat against his tongue, doesn’t really notice or mind the ache in his jaw and he lost his gag reflex years ago. Too many doctors peering down the back of his throat growing up, probably. He likes the way Bucky shudders and gasps under him, fist clenching and unclenching in his hair as Steve’s mouth slides up and down the length of his cock. It’s not a power trip thing- if that was something he liked before, he’s more than over that now. He has more than enough power in every other aspect of his life, it’s not really something he chases in bed. But it makes him feel good to know that he’s making Bucky feel good. 

And Bucky _does_ feel good. It’s obvious from how he throws his head back against the pillows, from how he chants, “Shit, _fuck_ , Steve. Stevie. Please. Oh, _god_.” He twists his hand in the quilt and lets it go just as fast, reaching down to find Steve’s. Shaking fingers twining with Steve’s and squeezing tightly.

When his thighs start tensing, Steve releases him and sits back on his knees. “Sorry,” he says, hoarse and not all that sorry at all, when Bucky gasps and whines, his eyes opening. For one thing, he isn’t done yet and he doesn’t want Bucky to come yet. For another… while he might like sucking cock, he absolutely _loathes_ when someone finishes in his mouth. And that’s nothing against Bucky, it’s just… he cannot stand it. The texture of it in his mouth makes his body seize up, makes his stomach churn and his throat refuse to work to swallow it down. The first time he’d ever given a blowjob, in a bathroom in a basement bar, he’d ended up throwing up all over the guy’s feet and spending two hours shaking and gagging in the corner of one of the stalls. He’d learned his lesson fast and the next time and every time since, he’s been prepared and pulls off before the moment can hit, finishing his partner off in some other way. A little bit of precome during the act is okay but when his mouth is full of it, hot and thick and slimy… no. _No_. 

And this is his first relationship and he’d been a little terrified when he’d told Bucky that he’s very sorry but it will _never_ happen. But he’s lucky, god, he’s so lucky. Bucky had just nodded and smiled and hugged him. Had said ‘ _That’s okay, Steve, we’ll never do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise’_. It’s the kind of thing he’d been scared would be a dealbreaker, but no. He swallows, sliding up the bed, covering Bucky’s body with his own to press their lips together. “Sorry,” he says again. “I love you.”

“Mm. I love you, too. Don’t apologize.” Bucky mumbles against his mouth, his hips shifting, searching for friction against Steve’s. “Just… oh… tell me you got more ideas than just handjobs for tonight.”

“What do _you_ have in mind?”

Bucky reaches up and brushes Steve’s bangs back, licking his lips. “I was thinking you should fuck me. Thought about it all day.” He grins when Steve lets out a pitiful groan. “That something you wanna do, Stevie?”

“Christ. Yeah.” He leans in for another kiss, deep and messy, panting breaths against each other’s skin. Bucky’s hands trace over his back before dropping to the waistband of his pants, shoving at them. He has to pull back to get them off, kicking them down to the foot of the bed. 

There’s nothing between them now when Bucky pulls him in and kisses him soundly. “Hold on, hold on,” he says, pushing himself upright. The movement dislodges Steve, forces him back on his knees. Bucky rolls, leans over the side of the bed to where his bag is still on the floor. There’s the sound of a zipper being pulled open and then Bucky is sitting up again, pressing a bottle of lube and a foil condom packet into Steve’s hand. “How do you want me?”

“Uhh-” He’s still stuck on the fact that he _gets_ to do this, his brain hasn’t moved on to thinking logistics yet. 

Bucky seems to take pity on him, though, smirking and reaching to arrange the pillows. He lies back against them, propped up with two and a third under his lower back. He bends one leg at the knee, the other stretched wide across the mattress. Shameless as he looks at Steve through his lashes, crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “C’mon, Stevie. I’m all yours.”

He sets the condom packet aside and takes a breath, settling himself between Bucky’s spread legs. Coating two fingers with the lube, he rubs them together, letting the slick heat up before he reaches out. Bucky lets out a shaky breath at the brush of his fingers but he smiles reassuringly when Steve meets his gaze. “Tell me if it’s too much,” Steve whispers, turns his head to press a kiss to the side of Bucky’s knee. He circles the pad of his forefinger against the whorl of muscle, just lightly pushing. “‘Kay?”

“Yeah… yeah, okay.” Bucky’s eyelids are already fluttering, his chest rising and falling faster. He starts to reach for his dick but then seems to think better of it, lacing both of his hands behind his head. His hips tilt into Steve’s touch when he gives a little more pressure. “That’s it, c’mon.”

Steve’s all too aware of his own strength as he carefully- so carefully- presses one finger in to the first knuckle. The hot squeeze of the muscle, fighting against the intrusion even as Bucky takes deep breaths, clearly trying to relax into it, makes Steve’s head spin a little. He strokes his free hand up and down Bucky’s thigh, squeezes his hip lightly. Soothing. He takes it slow, even when Bucky starts shifting, when he starts to make little punched out noises and ask for more. “Easy,” he whispers, turning a kiss on his hip bone into a bite; a flushed red bruise blooming across his skin. “Let me take care of you.” He crooks his fingers just so, brushing across his prostate. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Bucky whispers, positively _writhing_ at the touch. There’s sweat beading on his temple, his lower lip swollen and bright red from how hard he’s bitten it. “Oh god, Steve, that’s- I’m ready, please.” 

“Okay, baby, okay.” Steve flexes his fingers, drags them against Bucky’s rim as he pulls them out. He grabs the condom packet with his clean hand and hands it to Bucky. “Open it.” It takes him a couple of tries, with his fingers shaking, but he gets the package open and hands the condom back. 

He’s been focused on Bucky and it isn’t until he rolls the rubber on that he sucks in a sharp breath at his own touch. He’s achingly, _painfully_ hard, rocking into his fist as he slicks up.He wipes the excess lube off of his hand on his discarded pants before he crawls between Bucky’s spread thighs. “Hi,” he whispers, kisses him softly. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Bucky tilts his chin up, the tip of his nose bumping against Steve’s own. “Get in me.”

“Tell me if you need to stop,” Steve says, and reaches down to guide himself into that tight heat. It’s overwhelming all at once and he drops his face down to the curve of Bucky’s neck, gasping against his heated skin. And Bucky is rolling his hips into it, he’s hooking one leg around Steve’s hip, urging him deeper. “Bucky. Bucky,” Steve murmurs, curling one hand around the nape of Bucky’s neck. Sweaty little ringlets of hair tangle around his fingers. God, he’s so perfect. He’s a work of goddamn art and it’s _Steve_ he’s opening up for like this. And he’s as deep as he can go and they’re both breathing hard already but he can’t help but turn his face, can’t help but meet Bucky’s lips in a _desperate_ kiss. 

There are definitely going to be marks all over his shoulder blades because Bucky’s fingernails are digging in tight, dragging up and down. Steve can feel the minute trembles running through his body, the faint shake in every single muscle. “Move.” He says into Steve’s mouth, voice already wrecked. “I need you, I _need you_. C’mon, move”

The drag as he pulls out has Steve lightheaded. His mouth goes dry and he reaches down to the leg Bucky already has drawn up. Loops his arm under the bend of his knee, pulling it higher up his side. Bucky’s eyes meet his, wide and dark. Steve can’t even form words, swallowed up in this moment. All he can do is push his hips forward, back into the clutch of Bucky’s body. All he can do is fall into that rhythm, burning slow. All he can do is press his lips to every inch of Bucky’s skin that he can reach, taste the salt of it on his tongue. 

“Oh god,” Bucky groans, hushed and breathless. Chants Steve’s name over and over and it’s mesmerizing. A spell that Steve gets caught in so wholly that he feels it in every cell of his body, all the way down to his toes. 

He’s not gonna last long but that’s okay because Bucky’s already clenching up, already on edge. And they have all the time in the world with each other, they can do this again and again and again. He releases his hold on Bucky’s leg to wedge his hand between them and get his hand around Bucky’s cock. It changes the angle and all at once Bucky is arching up under him, his entire body clenching down tight. Steve sees _stars_ but he leans in and slams his mouth against Bucky’s, swallowing the broken moans. “Shh, shhh, baby.” He twists his hand, thrusts sharp and short against the same spot. It only takes a few strokes before Bucky goes rigid. It ripples through him, every muscle trembling as he falls apart under Steve. He’s so tight, Steve can’t do anything but fall right over the edge with him. Blood rushing in his ears like the waves crashing on the shore outside.

It whites out his vision, takes his breath away, his hips jerking forward of their own accord. He gasps against Bucky’s mouth, tastes blood where one of them bit the other’s lip a little too hard but he couldn’t tell who. They’re both shaking, breathing hard as they come down. Steve slides his hands over Bucky’s shoulders, presses a kiss to his heaving chest. “I love you so much.”

There’s no words to describe it, how his chest is full to bursting with everything he feels. So unbelievably happy, so overcome with peace. This is where he belongs, right here in Bucky’s arms, whether they’re by the sea or in New York or across the universe. He’d spent his entire life searching for something like this, an environment that would let him just _let go_ and _be_. And he’d never expected he’d find it in a grocery store just when he’d become such a stranger in his own life that he’d been starting to forget he was even real. But he had. He’d found it in Bucky and Estelle who brought him so thoroughly back to himself, back to _Steve Rogers_ , who had taken his withering heart in gentle hands and made it bloom. If his heart is a garden, Bucky is the gardener, coaxing every flower to turn toward the sun. And Steve just… loves and loves and loves him. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers.

Bucky grimaces a little when Steve pulls out, even though he’s as gentle as he can be. He crosses the small room to the bathroom and grabs a washcloth, wetting it with warm water. The condom gets tossed in the trash bin and he returns to bed, using the cloth to clean Bucky up. They’re silent as they crawl under the heavy covers, laying on their sides facing each other, legs tangled together. 

Bucky lifts his hand, brushing Steve’s hair back and settling his palm against his cheek. “I think you’re my forever person, Steve.”

“That’s good to hear,” Steve says, like the words didn’t make his eyes burn and his chest ache. But Bucky just smiles and brushes the tears away, gentle fingers under his eyes. “Because I know you’re mine.”

The kiss is achingly soft, a gentle meeting of lips. It’s only now that Steve can feel the sting of a split on his lip healing. Bucky brushes his mouth across it, a silent apology. It comes to an easy stop, Bucky rolling onto his back and Steve laying half across him, ear resting right over his beating heart. He falls asleep to the whooshing rhythm, surrounded by the tranquility found only in the arms of a lover. 

He’s home.

***

“Stellie, I swear to god.” Bucky huffs and puts his laptop aside, crawling across the sheet they have laid out on the sand to grab her before she gets to the edge of it. It’s their last week in Maine and she’d started crawling seemingly overnight. Now that she’s mobile, she’s everywhere, getting into everything. As soon as Bucky sits down again, she’s trying to climb out of his lap and when he doesn’t let her, she starts fussing. “Someone needs a _nap_.” 

Steve smiles and lays back, looking up at the fluffy clouds overhead. They’ve been out here a good couple of hours, basking in the sun and the warm temperatures. Here on the beach it’s still been overcast and chilly more often than not, but they haven’t really minded it. When it’s not rainy, they’ve been exploring around town and along the shore, bundling Estelle up against the temperature. Steve’s favorite place is the little coffee shop slash antique store on Maine Street, where it feels less like a place for collectors to snatch up items that have value for their age and more like somewhere to fall back in time a little. 

They’d spent a good two hours in there the first time they’d gone in, wandering through the sections with coffee cups in hand. Some things Steve had never seen before, were as strange to him as everything in the future had been when he’d first woken up. But others, he could pick up and tell stories about. The radio identical to the one he’d spent hours listening to programs on. The wringer washer like the one that one of the buildings he’d lived in had shared once upon a time. After a little girl had gotten her entire hand crushed when her mother only looked away for a moment, Steve had never been allowed near it, but he can remember how every laundry day his mother had carefully removed all the buttons on their clothes so that they wouldn’t be destroyed in the rollers. He’d only been about six or seven but he’d learned how to sew to help her put them back on. Bucky had stepped back from the machine in horror after that story, even though it wasn’t plugged in and there was no danger. 

He’s sad that they’ll be leaving in a few days, but he’s also excited to be going back to New York. He misses their apartment and he misses Natasha randomly showing up a few times a week. And his therapist has worked out the prescription at last, so he’ll be able to pick that up when they get back to the city. Being here has made the nightmares a little better, less intense and not as frequent but not gone. There’s no guarantee that the medication will work at all but at least he’s finally getting a chance to _try_ it. And if it doesn’t… well, they’ll just keep trying new things until something does work. 

“We should come back here sometime,” he says, shading his eyes against the sun as he looks over at Bucky. “Like a tradition.”

Bucky smiles, his hand running over Estelle’s hair. She’s half asleep, draped across his lap, thumb in her mouth. “Yeah? I’d like that.” He’s starting to get a tan, all sunkissed, golden and warm and it just makes his eyes look brighter. “When I was a kid, my parents got a place on Rehoboth beach down in Delaware for two weeks every summer. I looked forward to it all year long. It’d be nice to give Estelle that, too.” He looks up, a small smile crossing his mouth. “Although once she’s up older and in school, we’d have to come later in the year.”

“When she’s in _school_ ,” Steve repeats, a little horrified. It’s scary to think that they’ll blink and she’ll be heading off all day to learn reading and writing and math. This tiny little baby that’s only just now figuring out how to get herself around. She’s smart though. When that day does come, he has full confidence that she’ll excel in whatever she sets her mind to learning. “Jesus.”

“I know.” Bucky shakes his head, his nose wrinkling as he looks down at her, fast asleep. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

Crazy, yes. Comforting at the same time, the way that Bucky talks about the future so casually, including Steve in every aspect of it. Family traditions, raising their daughter, the whole thing. When he’d said Steve was his forever person, he meant it fully. And Steve isn’t stupid, he knows even though you feel something now, that doesn’t mean you always will. Or that the world won’t rear its cruel head and snatch what you love right out from under you. But he thinks that after all this time, the world owes him this much. This happy ending to the horror of the years that have come before. This hopeful beginning to all the years that will come after. 

And it doesn’t have to all be a fairytale. Not always happy, golden days. There will surely be moments where they fight and it’ll be scary but he loves Bucky. He _trusts_ him and he knows they’ll be okay and it will all work out in the end.

Because when you find your right family, things always do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus, the story ends. or does it? i know this family has so many more adventures they want to tell me about and i'm excited to be able to write them as they come to me. i've added this fic to a series, so if you want to, you can subscribe to that to be updated whenever i add to it. i wanted to add more about this time they spent at the lighthouse but the chapter was already running long and i think it would be nice to have one of the updates in the future be 'excerpts from by the sea', so i'm holding onto those tales for when that time comes. 
> 
> i want to thank each and every single one of you that has come on this journey with me. your support means the world and i have loved reading your reactions to the story as it progressed. it's truly the feedback that makes it all worth writing. it makes me so happy to make all of you happy. i played with some new aspects to characters in this story that i've never explored before and i've appreciated you all for sticking around through that and responding to it positively. i don't know when i might write fic again... i don't have any new stories about these two hanging out in my mind and begging to be written but i'll never say never. they are my emotional support dumbasses after all. i say this every time i finish a fic, but i'm gonna work on something original next (and hopefully actually finish it this time). if any of you are interested in that, you can find me on my tumblrs- i'll probably talk about the project most on my writing blog. actually, the story i'm gonna be working on writing i originally planned as a steve/bucky fic but as time passed i think the idea would be better served as an original work (especially since i'm chasing publication) but if you know what you're looking for, i'm sure you'll be able to find bits and pieces of them in the characters anyway. 
> 
> again, thank you to everyone. i love you all so much!! see you soon!  
> -a

**Author's Note:**

> Find Me On  
> Tumblr: pressrestart (main)/stevebuckyrightsonly (marvel sideblog)/pressrestartwrites (writing sideblog)


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